


i need (blood in the cut)

by lexa_lives_in_us



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Autism, Autism Spectrum, Beauregard has two siblings, Blackmail, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canonical Character Death, Car Accidents, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Echolalia, F/F, Fight Club - Freeform, Fight Club AU, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kiri makes an appearance, Mentions of Cancer, Mighty Nein as Family, Modern AU, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Past Drug Addiction, Polynein (Critical Role), Rough Kissing, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Warning: Obann (Critical Role), it was supposed to be a PWP, mention of mighty nein friendships, started as a one shot and now we're here, two disaster lesbians walk into a fight club
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26269795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexa_lives_in_us/pseuds/lexa_lives_in_us
Summary: As a kid, Beau'd never been allowed to climb trees, to run with the neighborhood kids, to scrape her knee.Looking at the blood in her cuts, with the tip of her tongue to taste the blood of her split lip, Beau smiles.-The pain reminds Yasha that she’s alive.Mostly, the pain reminds her of Zuala.It reminds her that all of this is her fault anyway, Zuala is gone, and she deserves that pain.orFight Club AU
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 262
Kudos: 329





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Just like any other Long-Fic... This was supposed to be a one-shot.  
> Born as a thirst concept on the Beauyasha discord, this has blown out into a full story, thank you guys.
> 
> You'll find references to both Marisha's and Ashley's playlists for our ladies. I wanted to honor their song choices since they fit so well.
> 
> Not Beta'd

Chapter One

For every person who’s always asked her why she does this, Beau has always had the same answer at the ready.

“It’s good money.” Is what she’d say with a shrug and a smirk.

And it is. It’s actually really good money.

Dirty money, quite possibly illegal money, but good money.

If her MMA instructor could see her now, they’d probably slap her twice a second until she reached the moon.

Or maybe they wouldn’t. After all, Dairon has always been tremendously good at seeing right through her.

Either way, it’s not like Beau has any intention of stopping.

And not because of the money.

Hell, it’s never been because of the money.

If her supporters knew how much money is actually stashed in her trust fund, they’d probably bet against her just out of spite. Not that Beauregard is any proud of her father’s money which, in her eyes, is even dirtier than the one she makes through sweat and blood.

There’s a reason why she’s fighting under a fake name.

If anyone in the Pit was to find out her last name, her life and her fun be would over in an instant.

She cares a bit more about the latter, and definitely not enough about the former.

Beauregard Lionett has always had everything.

Money, wealth, an education, toys. More toys than any local store could carry. And then books, and clothes, and make up.

None of which she ever really wanted.

The education had been chosen by her father.

Her toys had been strictly Barbies and dolls and fake toy-appliances. Books had been cookbooks, and clothes had been nothing but dresses or skirts.

Not that there had been anything wrong with all that, but it just hadn’t been Beau’s style.

“You were born a woman.” Her father would say with spite, with frustration of not having had a boy instead. “At least behave like a woman.”

So, naturally, Beau had gotten into fighting. Stupid, reckless, inexperienced fighting at first. And then, once she’d gotten into college, actual, proper fighting.

And when college had become too boring, too easy, too little to spark her interest, she’d found the Pit.

Underground, illegal fights.

This is what Beau lives for.

The adrenaline of the fight, the joyful rage that bubbles up at the very bottom of her stomach when she steps into the cage…

Beau needs it like air.

The rest of the world outside is too quiet, too numb, too empty.

She has friends, of course. Few and far between, but she has them.

But not even they can fully get her. Not even them can fully understand the primal need to fight, to dance in that cage like it’s the last day she’ll ever be alive.

And so she pretends. Even with them, she pretends she’s alright, so they don’t see that her heart is in a blender, one button away from being completely destroyed.

Just like in the cage, she tiptoes around her friends, watching, almost waiting for the moment when they’ll strike and send her in a K.O., or they’ll raise their hands and simply give up on her.

Beau has always had everything any other girl could have ever wanted, and she’d hated all of it.

The only thing she’d wanted, the love of a family, is not something she thinks she’s ever going to get.

She feels it sometimes when she’s around Jester and Caleb, Fjord and Caduceus, Veth and Molly. She feels like she might have something akin to what she’s dreamt of as a kid.

But even that’s not enough.

Because not even that makes her feel alive.

Fighting, though… Fighting makes her feel so alive it  _ burns _ .

They can break her bones, she’s not going to care. 

The world outside is too quiet, and she needs more.

She needs noise.

She needs the cracking of bones when the fighters lunge at each other.

She needs the manic and obsessive cheering of the people surrounding the cage, betting against people’s lives.

She looks at her knuckles after every fight, at those knuckles that are still holding the cash from her winnings, and she grins as she sees blood.

Blood burns, too.

As a kid, she’d never been allowed to climb trees, run with the neighborhood kids, scrape her knee.

The few times she’d actually gotten hurt had been the times when she’d done something  _ fun _ . Something… That had made her feel alive.

Looking at the blood in her cuts, with the tip of her tongue to taste the blood of her split lip, Beau smiles.

***

“It’s good money.” Yasha would murmur.

It really is. Not enough, of course, never enough to actually seal the deal with Obann, the damn bastard, but it’s good money.

But it’s good money at least to pay him off every month and to afford a small apartment at the edges of town.

It means that she has to walk to and from the Villa every single Wednesday, no matter how much her bones hurt after every fight, but she doesn’t mind, really. 

She doesn’t mind the walk, but mostly she doesn’t mind the pain.

The pain reminds her that she’s alive, that she can still feel things, that her body is still there, that it hasn’t left her.

And mostly, the pain reminds her of Zuala.

It reminds her that all of this is her fault anyway, and that if Zuala is gone, it’s her fault.

Zuala is gone, and she deserves that pain.

It doesn’t matter that it’s been almost three years. It doesn’t matter that, because of having to follow Obann around like a lost puppy, she’s had to move places almost once per season.

It doesn’t matter that she basically doesn’t even own her own life, because of it, that she’s slave to a master who is going to have her in chains for at least another three years.

Yasha knows that it’s her fault, and she doesn’t complain.

She doesn’t really have anything else to live for anyway.

She doesn’t have a family, or friends.

She lost contact with all of her girlfriend’s acquaintances after Zuala overdosed, since every single one of them had pointed their fingers at Yasha and told her to fuck off.

They’re right. Yasha knows it. She should’ve protected her. She should’ve created a better life for her.

They had started using together, Zuala and herself, out of an innocent curiosity. Out of desperation, almost.

They hadn’t even tried that much. Just a few things here and there. To feel alive for one last time.

It had been just enough.

Just enough to establish a debt with Obann that he’s holding on to like a jailer. 

Just enough to rip Zuala’s life away from her before she had been truly ready.

All in all, three months of an addiction shouldn’t have had the power to ruin the rest of her life.

But they had.

Yasha knows it’s her fault.

She should’ve known better back then, too.

Drugs never would have cured Zuala’s illness. She would’ve died anyway.

But maybe -maybe- they could’ve had more time together.

“Pure souls always act from love.” Zuala had often told her, between one sickness episode and a shot.

_ Damned souls always act from love, too.  _ Yasha had always thought, and never said.

Drugs never would have cured Zuala’s illness. But not using them definitely would’ve prevented her from ending up in that fucking mess.

But Yasha can’t complain.

She’s been clean for three years, nine months and seventeen days, and this new city doesn’t look half as bad as the last.

Obann has promised her fresh competition, and Yasha can’t complain. 

She’s fought her way through every single Fight Club in the Eastern territories, and gotten out as the best fighter.

It’s not like she can be that picky, either.

No one is ever going to hire an ex-junkie whose girlfriend has OD’d. No respectable employer in that corner of the world anyway.

And so, she stays, she fights, and she wins.

She gets fifty percent of each fight, and Obann gets the rest.

It’s not much, and she can barely pay for her own rent and food, but fighting makes her feel alive.

Every punch, every kick, every hit reminds her that she’s still here, and that her pain is well deserved.

One day, she knows, this is going to end.

She’s either going to pay up her debt with Obann and walk free, with absolutely no place to be in the world, or she’s going to get hit so hard that she’s not going to get up anymore.   
Yasha doesn’t know which thought scares her more.

Or maybe, it’s the not knowing that truly scares her.

***

Zadash is a boring city, and Beau has no idea how many times she’s wished to get out of there.

She would do it, truly, if her friends didn’t love that city so much.

“We just have to finish our studies, Beau.” Jester keeps reminding her, with a smile and shrug. “Then we’ll go on a road trip and stay away forever.”

Beau always snorts, shaking her head.

She believes her, though.

It’s hard not to believe Jester. She’s a lying trickster, but at least with her, Jester has always been honest.

“It’s whatever. Finish your lunch before you eat another one of those.”

Beau points at the lollipop, already halfway to Jester’s mouth, before getting up to stretch.

She’s buzzing.

After defeating every single person in her category, the Villa people have finally asked her to join the other categories to make more money.

Of course it’s not the money she’d said yes for.

Other categories mean new people. Fresh meat, sure. But it means different kind of fighters.

Beau is the unbeat champion for her weight class and the ones below hers, but never once in the history of the Pit has someone been so good to be asked to advance to heavier classes.

To say that she’s excited is probably the understatement of the centuries.

Tonight is her first round in the Main Circle.

The Main Circle is simply the one that brings in more people, therefore more money. And it brings in people simply because things can get ridiculously violent there.

The Main Circle is the only category without a referee inside the cage.

Beau’s heard someone has died once, but she’s not sure how much of it is true and how much of it is pure marketing.

Either way, she hasn’t had a fight in the middle of the week in what feels like forever.

Her body is almost not used to it.

But she knows she’s going to be alright.

She says goodbye to Jester with a kiss on her forehead and heads for the exits. She waves goodbye to Caleb, Veth and Molly at reception and shoots a text to Cad and Fjord to confirm tomorrow’s dinner plans.

She has half of the day to kill, and she decides that running to the beach and back is the best way to do it.

***

Yasha arrives at the Villa with almost one hour to spare.

She enjoys walking through the town, and she often stops to look at the houses or pick the flowers, so she always allows herself plenty of time to reach her destination.

But it’s started raining halfway through, and she’s preferred to just get to the Villa the least soaked as possible.

She rings the bell at the gates, which open in an instant.

The crackling of rocks under her boots is almost reassuring, calming, a nice contrast with the rain that is still pouring down on her head.

Yasha doesn’t think she’s ever owned an umbrella.

She rounds the massive mansion to get to the back of the house, finding the backdoor entrance to the underground.

In the dozen of places Yasha has seen, mansions and big houses have almost always been the perfect places for a Fight Club.

It’s easier to hide from the law when they happen on private lands. Only the chosen few know where and when to go to watch the fights, and only the fighters are allowed entrance before the start time.

Yasha nods to the massive bodyguard at the door and heads for the filthy locker room.

Although the rest of the place is sparkling clean, the underground where the fights are held are one of the dirtiest places Yasha has ever seen.

Again, she can’t complain. There are locker rooms and a shower, and she can use both at no charge. There’s even a free First Aid kid in each locker room, which is quite honestly a first.

Yasha throws her bag in the first locker she finds. 

In the few weeks she’s been in Zadash, she’s been the only woman to use this room at the same time as her.

Her category is mainly composed by men, as there are very few women of Yasha’s height and weight.

She knows she has a massive build for a woman, but she’s never cared.

Zuala never cared.

Yasha slips her headphones in to try and calm her nerves.

Obann has told her there has been some changes in tonight’s fights.

Apparently there has been a re-shuffle in the categories, and some folks from other nights have been allowed into the fights.

She wonders what kind of people has been allowed into the cage. She’s fought a bunch of different guys and she almost lost a couple times: they’re big, and ferocious, and have nothing to lose.

She’s never lost, of course.

She’s lost very few times in her career as a fighter, and not because of the lack of ability. She’d just been too distracted, or too unmotivated, or too tired.

But Zadash definitely has a different kind of fighters.

It’s almost like this city is made to breed and harvest war machines, souls so desperate for a win that nothing else matters except for the cage and the fight.

She’s never felt such a kinship to other fighters like she has with these guys in Zadash.

Yasha presses the play button on her old iPod nano, one of the very few things she has left from her old life.

_ Smack my bitch up _ by Prodigy starts to play, and she half smiles as she changes into her fighting gear.

***

Beau is late.

She is so fucking late, and the Villa people are going to have her head if she misses her first fight in the new category.

She has certainly not expected for the sky to open up and pour cats and dogs over her head while she’d been meditating at the beach.

After running back home to change and grab her stuff, she is now royally cussing and she skids to a stop in front of the Villa, slamming her palm against the buzzer.

No one answers. The fights must’ve started already. And she’s second on the schedule.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK.”

Without thinking twice about it, she hurls her bag on the other side of the massive gate.

She takes a few steps back then runs toward the wall, places a foot on the column on the side of the gate and uses it to propel herself upwards, where she manages to grab the upper part of the metallic gate.

She pulls herself up, carefully sliding her leg on the other side.

Beau lowers herself down, as close to the ground as she can, then lets go.

She lands on her feet and lunges forward, grabbing her bag as she runs.

The bodyguard at the back of the Villa regards her with a disapproving look, but Beau doesn’t have the time to cuss at him, too.

She takes the way down three stairs at the time, and slams her bag in one of the open lockers. She quickly flips her shoes and socks off, rips her shirt from her body and checks the mirror to fix her hair in a tight bun.

She faintly hears the slamming of a body against the mats, followed by a loud cheer and then, even louder, the voice of the referee counting down to zero.

The first fight is almost over.

She grins, as she slips through the crowd to make her way to her entrance of the cage.

It’s go time.

***

Yasha must give it to them.

They are incredibly skilled fighters.

Many people she’s fought in the past have had a lot of passion.

But these people in Zadash… They don’t just have passion, they don’t just fight like their lives depend on it.

They also know how to fight.

Not as well as she does, clearly, but they are good.

Yasha likes to watch other people fight before her. Not only can she get a good lock of what her possible future opponent might look and fight like, but it helps her get out of her own head.

Prodigy is still screaming the lyrics of  _ Invaders Must Die _ in her ears, when she sees Obann nodding at her from his corner of the basement.

It’s her moment.

She patiently waits for the two fighters to be escorted out -one of them in a stretcher, the other one surrounded by three bodyguards, in fear that he hits someone on the way to the exit- and she then slips inside the cage, closing the grid-like door behind her.

Keeping her back to the cage, she closes her eyes and focuses on the music pounding in her ears, silencing the rest of the room. She opens and closes her fists, stretching out her neck. Left and right. Left and right.

Finally, she opens her eyes and nods to herself, taking her headphones away and letting them slip between the holes in the mesh where her towel is, outside the cage.

Then, Yasha turns around.

***

Beau faintly hears the door closing behind her, but she honestly thinks the whole ass Hell could close its door behind her and she would not look back.

Not only she has been waiting for this fight for Gods know how long.

That’s really not it.

But as she steps inside the cage, she is welcomed by the sight of two massive shoulders, and back muscles she could quite realistically grate some cheese on.

That is the first comparison that passes through Beauregard’s desperately gay brain, as her jaw goes just so slightly slack.

She’s fought women before. She’s fought taller women before.

But the one who is currently focusing on the other side of the cage is quite possibly the hottest girl Beauregard Lionett has ever seen in her entire life.

And she hasn’t even turned around yet.

Her skin is pale, marked with a couple tattoos on her stupidly toned left calf, and a sleeve tattoo on her right arm.

Beau can’t make out the tattoos from where she’s standing, but she doesn’t care. The woman is built and muscular, donning a pair of black basketball shorts and a matching sports bra that criss crosses on her perfectly shaped back muscles.

The woman's hair, black as her clothes except for the tips, which are white, is braided and tied very distractedly, and Beau knows it’s going to come loose in less than a minute of fight. 

“Holy shit.” Beau mutters, blinking in awe for a long moment.

She then blinks again.

“Fuck. Focus, you  _ moron _ .” she tells herself, shaking her head for good measure.

She can thirst all she wants on her opponent at a later moment.

Right now her priority is to win her fight and not let those thighs smash something less pleasurable than her face.

Beau might be a dumbass, but she knows a good fighter when she sees one. 

And this woman looks like an excellent fighter.

***

That can’t be right.

Yasha blinks in confusion.

She glances at the referee, then at Obann, who smirks devilishly and shrugs.

Right. He couldn’t care less whether or not her opponents got hurt or not. He just wants his money.

But Yasha is not so sure this reshuffle in weight classes is such a smart idea after all.

She’s thought she was going to be fighting bigger people.

Not, well.

Not certainly that.

Yasha takes a closer look, and she swallows.

She has to be very honest with herself.

Her opponent is not just ridiculously hot -which in and on itself makes Yasha want to throw the towel, because how is she supposed to focus with those eyes staring back at her?

But she’s also smaller. Thinner, Yasha thinks at first. But no.

Thinner is not even the right word.

Sure, her opponent is not as tall or built as she is, but there is power underneath that dark skin.

There is adrenaline and experience running through those veins.

Yasha can see it by the way the other fighter starts circling the ring, by the way she studies her just like she’s doing with her, that this woman knows her way in a fight.

She wouldn’t be here otherwise.

Yasha automatically moves in the opposite direction, nodding to the other woman.

She smirks back and winks.

She honest to the Gods winks at her.

Yasha stiffens for a second, not at all prepared to the rush of warmth that goes through her. It’s been a long time since she’s laid with a woman.

This primal desire that her opponent spurs, with her blue eyes and her lean, agile, powerful figure, is quite unexpected. It’s almost like there’s nothing in that body but pure muscles and light bones, and Yasha wants it against her own skin.

Whether it is through fighting or something else, it does not matter.

Either one makes her feel alive, either one turns something inside of her that burns and burns and burns.

The referee finally calls for the end of the bets and the bids, and announces the fighters names.

“Tracy versus Yasha. Fighters, at the ready!”

Tracy.

It doesn’t suit her. 

Yasha allows herself that one last thought, before the referee calls for the fight to begin.

***

Beau lands a mean right hook on Yasha’s jaw before the audience has the time to take their first breath.

The room explodes in a chorus of screams and applause, and Beau tunes everyone else out as she quickly disengages.

She smirks again as Yasha stumbles a couple steps backwards, looking almost surprised as she flips her thumb on her already split lip.

The blood smears on her chin, just where Yasha’s chin tattoo is.

Beau wants to scream, because that woman is hot, and strong, and she’s just about ready to kick her ass.

Beau manages to duck just in time, as Yasha’s left breezes a few millimeters from her head.

She responds by propelling herself upwards with an uppercut directed at Yasha’s ribs, but the woman folds onto herself and blocks the hit with her forearm, before twisting her wrist to try and grab Beau’s fist.

Beau is quick on her feet and skirts away, not wanting to get wrapped into a closed fight with a woman who looks like she was raised bench pressing tractors.

She takes one step backwards before she realizes her mistake.

Yasha’s front kick hits her at full force, and Beau feels the pain of the metal of the wall against her back before she even registers the one on her stomach.

She coughs out and groans in pain, the audience screaming behind her to get back in the middle of the cage.

She looks up, where Yasha is slowly but surely approaching, eyes dark and bottomless, and shoves the pain away to be dealt with later. She breathes in. And waits.

***

Yasha hesitates for just a moment after her kick sends Tracy flying against the edge of the cage. She can’t allow herself to be merciful. There is a fight to win, no matter how pretty her opponent might be.

So she locks away her feelings, and allows that primal, ancient rage to bubble up inside of her, to cloud her emotions and to take control over her. There can only be one winner, and it has to be her.

Tracy does not move from where she is standing, and Yasha is ready to end this.

She lets out a scream as she throws her cross punch right where Tracy’s face is.

Only... Tracy’s face disappears.

Almost as fast as the light itself, the other woman avoids her punch by ducking away and under her arm, sliding on her bare feet so quickly that Yasha wouldn’t believe it possible.

Tracy doesn’t even leave her the time to turn to face her, as she jabs two quick and lethal uppercuts under her ribcage.

The world goes completely white for a brief, eternal second, as Yasha opens her mouth to try and catch her breath, but no air seems to be coming in.

She stumbles backwards once again as her vision returns, dotted by colors and painful flashes. She takes a couple more steps away from her advancing opponent, inhaling with desperation as her knees almost give in.

Yasha doesn’t understand what is happening, nor how two punches can literally rip the air from her lungs, and she barely manages to raise her elbow to try and parry the roundhouse kick directed to her side.

A kick that never really hits her, as it skims past her. Yasha feels the air movement from the missed hit, before she realizes it was never meant to miss in the first place.

Tracy keeps rotating, her left leg continuing around to give her enough of a spin to kick a second time.

Pain explodes in Yasha’s jaw, as the brute force of the tornado kick slams her down onto the mat, completely ripping out the breath out of her lungs.

Yasha curls on the ground in pain, her ears ringing from the hit, her side still burning from the punches and her whole left side of the face numb and pulsating at once.

The loud screaming of the audience is almost as deafening as the ringing in her ear, and she barely hears the referee screaming about Tracy’s infamous stunning strikes, before he starts counting down.

Yasha tries to scream, spitting out blood and frustration as she briefly glances up.

She can see Tracy’s long legs approaching quickly to finish her, and she knows she won’t have the time nor the energy to get up. Not before she reaches her anyway.

It’s a hail Mary, but she does it anyway. Recklessly, she throws herself forward, tackling Tracy’s knees with her whole body, and leading the both of them to roll onto the mats in a tangle of limbs and blood.

***

Beau doesn’t expect Yasha to be able to move after what she’s done to her.

She has used that set of moves several times, and she’s seen grown ass men buckling and throwing the towel after not being able to breathe.

One well placed punch to the liver has the ability to clock someone out with ease. Two of them could make the majority of men pass out.

Yasha not only had managed to stay upright, but she’d also stumbled away from the fight to a point where Beau had been forced to chase her.

And even then, even after that incredibly well placed tornado kick that Beau is incredibly proud of, Yasha still hasn’t given up.

She finds herself on the floor, Yasha’s warm, sweaty body pressed against her legs as the taller woman tries to grapple her.

Beau kicks, almost desperately, trying to get out of that hold.

She’s done her fair share of jiu jitsu training with Dairon, but she’s never been that good.

Yasha manages to pin her down, using her thighs so block her hips and her calves to keep her legs still.

Beau brings both her arms up, covering her face as Yasha starts pounding on her, one punch after the other, trying to break her defense.

Beau grunts, squeezing her eyes shut to try and control the pain, to try and find the strength in herself to react.

Yasha is strong, and Beau can feel her body start to give in.

She can’t allow herself that. She can’t lose. She hasn’t worked her way up the Main Circle to lose at the very first fight.

Once again, she focuses on what she feels, she focuses on her body and the placement of Yasha’s limbs around her.

She kicks again, and one of her legs manages to lose Yasha’s hold.

It’s all she needs.

Beau bends her knee, using the leverage to raise her hips in a quick, sharp, strong movement that sends Yasha flying away from her.

Beau rolls on her stomach, pushing herself up.

She looks up and sees Yasha doing the same. She can’t allow the woman to stand.

It’s now or never.

Beau propels herself forward, covering the distance in the cage in as little time as she humanly can, jumping up, kicking her leg backwards and using the power generated from her hip movement to superman punch Yasha’s straight on the nose.

***

Once again, pain burns her face as her nose cracks, as blood starts dripping on the mat.

Yasha can taste the metallic taste of it in her tongue, and she knows she’s bit down on it too hard.

She desperately tries to throw a punch in Tracy’s direction, but it’s blocked, and Tracy’s hands close behind her neck.

“I’m sorry.” Tracy says, her voice low and scratchy, before she brings down Yasha’s head and clocks her on the face with her knee.

Yasha’s world goes black.

***

Beau collects her money on the way out of the cage, assuring the referee she’s done for tonight’s fights.

She knows she’s won because her opponent had deeply underestimated her, and she’s not willing to push her luck.

She nods and grimaces a couple smiles toward some slimy gentlemen who could very well be part of her father’s network, and slips inside the women’s locker room, locking the door behind her.

The clicking sound makes the other woman look up from where she’s sitting, hair undone cascading over her shoulders, sweat and blood still smeared across her face.

In the flickering neon light of the room, Beau can see the beginning of a bruise under Yasha’s left eye, and she realizes the color of her iris doesn’t match her right one. How this is possible, she doesn’t know. How she hadn’t realized during the fight, also remains a mystery.

Beau crosses her hands behind her back and leans against the door, looking at Yasha almost embarrassed.

She’s happy she won, of course, but she doesn’t like the idea that this beautiful woman might now hate her.

“So, uhm…” she begins, clearing her voice. “That was a really good match.”

Yasha tilts her head, and her hair falls on her face, braids and curls covering one of her eyes.

“Yes.” she says, quietly. “You are very fast.”

Her voice is completely different from what Beau had expected. It’s gentle, low but soft, fragile like glass.

Beau’s breath itches, as a strange energy washes over her. She untangles her hands and holds one out to Yasha.

“I’m Beauregard.” she says. “Friends call me Beau.”

Yasha frowns for a moment, before reaching out and delicately grabbing Beau’s hand in her own.

They lock eyes for a quick moment, before Yasha looks down and drops her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Tracy.” Yasha says, and Beau mentally kicks herself.

“Uuuh…” is all she manages to say, but Yasha looks up at her and smiles, amused.

“Don’t worry. I used fake names, too, at times. It’s safer, isn’t it?”

Beau nods, chuckling to herself. She can’t believe she’s so dumb to drop her real name in front of the first pretty girl she sees.

She shuffles back to her locker, putting her money away and turning again to glance at Yasha.

Yasha is already looking at her, almost curiously.

That’s the thing, though.

Yasha is not just pretty.

Yasha is hot as hell, she is quite possibly the strongest woman she’s ever met, and she shares a secret that none of Beau’s dates could ever possibly understand.

An underground Fight Club is not exactly something one can talk about. And it’s most definitely not something any of Beau’s past lovers would’ve liked to have any involvement with.

No, Yasha isn’t just pretty.

She looks and, mostly, feels, like a whole lot more than that.

Beau leans against the lockers once more. The cold metal is a blessing for her sore muscles. Yasha keeps staring at her, as she stands to lean against the lockers on her side of the room.

“What?” Beau asks.

Yasha is quiet for a long moment, then, almost surprised by what she’s saying, says: “I underestimated you.”

Beau chuckles, nodding.

“Yeah. Most people do.”

Story of her life, really.

Yasha tuts, tapping the lockers behind her, pensively.

“I won’t do it again.”

Beau raises one eyebrow, and her tone turns flirtatious before she can stop herself.

“Oh, so there  _ is  _ going to be a second round?”

It’s the stupidest, corniest pick up line she could possibly use, but goddamn Yasha and her ridiculously beautiful face, it  _ works _ .

Her eyes cloud with something Beau can’t exactly recognize, but there is a primal desire in there that Beau is all too familiar with.

“Do you want to?” Yasha counters, and Beau doesn’t think they’re talking about fighting anymore.

Or maybe they are, and the underlying meaning of that has the same effect on the both of them.

Beau takes a step forward, and Yasha moves to step over the bench she was sitting on just a moment ago.

“I do.” Beau says, and her voice is low and her body is vibrating.

“Good.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... This is just pure smut y'all. Enjoy.

Chapter Two 

Yasha says ‘good’ like it is. Like it’s a good idea, like what she is doing doesn’t go completely against everything pure she has left.

Like her memory of Zuala, a memory that she’d promised she would keep in her heart, without letting anyone else in. A memory she’d promised to keep in her body as well, as for every flirt and every avances she’d turned down woman after woman, girl after girl, lover after lover, every day for the past three years.

She says ‘good’ as hers and Beauregard’s bodies crash together once more, tangling in a similar and yet so different way from what they’ve just done.

Yasha kisses Beauregard with fierceness and desperation and a bit of anger, too.

How dare she?

How dare this girl fight her and beat her, and now make her way under her skin and through her body?

Beauregard -such a better name, a more fitting name than ‘Tracy’- cups the back of her neck and drags her down to her level, and Yasha is not having it.

She bends her knees just enough to reach down to grab Beauregard’s ass with her hands and lifts her up.

Beauregard goes willingly, her strong legs wrapping around her waist in one fluid movement.

Yasha presses her tongue against chapped lips, and Beauregard is quick to meet it with hers. Yasha’s tongue caresses hers for a lazy moment, groaning at the sound that Beauregards emits as she does so. She presses in, suddenly, to explore Beauregard’s mouth.

To her credit, Beauregard doesn’t put up that much of a fight, this time. Not for that, at least.

Yasha takes a couple quick blind steps, until she hears the other woman’s back crashing against the lockers. She is probably going to bruise, but something tells her that Beauregard is not going to care.

The thought elicits something deep from within Yasha.

She hasn’t laid with many women before Zuala, but it’s always been gentle, and sweet, and careful. With Zuala, they’d had their moments, at first. Then, as Zuala’s sickness had progressed, it had become more tender and calculated. Slow and steady.

This rush, this animalistic want that is bubbling up within her, is a fruit of years of rage and frustration and desires that she’d never allowed herself to set free. She wants, and she wants in a primal way.

But Beauregard won’t care about the bruises.

As she bites down hard on her lower lip, Yasha knows that Beauregard won’t run.

Beauregard tastes like blood, sweat and bad choices, and that is exactly the recipe for Yasha’s life.

Even so, she needs to make sure that this is what she wants. That this girl who looks like a storm has dragged to her door wants it as much as she does. Consequences be damned.

“Beauregard…” she hisses, her hands still wrapped around her ass, Beauregard’s fingers still tangled in her hair. “Are you…?”

And the other woman pulls just ever so slightly, just enough to breathe out: “Beau. It’s just Beau. And if you’re askin’ me if I’m sure then yes, I’m _really_ fucking sure and you better fucking f-”

Yasha almost smiles against Beau’s mouth as she kisses her again to shut her up.

Her almost desperate babble is quite endearing, and if she hadn’t just completely destroyed her and cost her the money of the week, Yasha would be willing to slow down.

But at that, she will have to find a way to eat, and she thinks she is going to start from the woman writhing in her arms.

She slips her tongue over Beau’s lip, sucking on it as she feels is swelling because of her bite from a moment ago.

Yasha skims her lips down Beau’s throat, not even bothering to be delicate as she leaves marks of her passage.

She finally lets Beau’s ass go, and Beau remains anchored to her as Yasha uses her hands to grab the hem of her Nike sports bra and lift it.

Just enough, just a little.

Yasha ducks to wrap a dark, perky nipple with her lips, sucking on it and flicking it with her tongue.

Beau’s head slams against the lockers, as the woman tries to suppress a moan.

“Fuck. Yes.”

Yasha grins, satisfied of the result, and works her mouth to Beau’s nipple as her free hand cups the other one with ease. She squeezes it and massages it, to a point where Beau’s lip starts bleeding again for how much she’s biting down on it.

Beau is not necessarily loud. Her body tenses in pleasure and her short nails dig in Yasha’s scalp to keep her where she is.

But Yasha knows what she wants, for once, and pushes down on Beau’s thighs to get her to release her hold.

Beau’s bare feet touch the dirty tiles of the locker room, and even surrounded by that filth, even with that flickering light and against those rusty, oily lockers, Beauregard is absolutely stunning.

Her blue eyes are as dark as the night as she looks down at her, as Yasha kneels in front of her and drags her shorts down on her ankles together with her boxers.

“Yes?” she asks again.

“Fuck, yes.” Beau breathes. And then, “Yasha.”

It’s all Yasha needs and all she could ever want.

She dives in, tongue wrapping immediately around Beau’s clit, fingers moving the dark curls away so she can have better access to Beau’s sex.

Beau holds her breath, head slamming against the lockers once again. She lifts one leg and rests her knee against Yasha’s shoulder, and Yasha appreciates the new position and regards her with a gentle sucking of her clit.

Yasha snakes her arms around Beau’s thighs, one hand cupping her ass and the other one spreading her folds, moving away hair, as she keeps eating her out.

She digs her chin deep into Beau’s soft wetness, the juices dripping on her neck.

It makes Beau squirm, so she does it again.

“Yasha...” Beau grits between her teeth, her nails scratching Yasha’s shoulders as she gives her a gentle shove.

Yasha smiles, knowing she’s not even remotely close to making Beau pay for that fight, tonight. She lowers her chin and uses the tip of her tongue to explore Beau’s opening, collecting juices and bringing them up to her clit, using her own arousal as a lubricant.

Beau tastes mostly like sweat, but as Yasha keeps dipping her tongue inside of her, she brings out more and more of her actual taste.

Finally, after Beau’s fingernails have probably left a mark on her shoulders, Yasha frees one hand and brings fingers to her mouth, wetting them just enough.

“Yes?” She breathes out again, looking up at Beau.

And Beau nods, frantically.

Only then Yasha drives three fingers deep inside Beau, one quick motion that makes Beau choke on her own loud moan.

Yasha doesn’t even care if anyone walks in. Honestly, she would only be proud if someone was to find her kneeling between the legs of this girl who looks so loud and who has instead barely made a sound as Yasha’s been touching her.

Yasha moves her fingers inside of Beau, not managing to suppress a moan at how tight and warm and soft she is. She’s missed this.

She opens and closes her fingers a couple times, but then starts moving them inside and out quickly, feeling Beau’s walls tightening even more around her.

She brings her mouth on Beau once more, and licks and sucks at her clit until Beau’s whole body is stretching and tensing and shaking.

Until Beau squeezes hard on her fingers and comes, one hand on Yasha’s head and the other one covering her mouth.

Yasha keeps her fingers inside of Beau, but almost immediately after she comes, Beau taps her wrist and nods.

“Out.” She croaks, and Yasha obeys. She drags her fingers out of Beau immediately, and Beau relaxes, leaning once again with her head on the lockers.

Yasha sits back on her heels, using her clean hand to flip her hair away from her face.

When she looks up at Beau, the girl is staring at her, still breathing heavily, but with a smug, satisfied look on her face.

Yasha rolls her eyes, amused by this weird person, and finally gets up to get her towel. She hears Beau fumbling with her clothes as she wipes her hand, but just as she’s about to clean her face as well, Beau’s long fingers close on her wrist.

Beau spins her around, and Yasha’s heart skips a beat at what she sees in her eyes.

***

Beau’s heart is pounding.

She has no idea who the hell this girl is, she has no idea where the fuck she’s popped up from, and she doesn’t care.

Yasha is hot, and strong, and Beau has been around her for less than two hours and can’t already have enough of her.

She keeps Yasha’s wrist locked in her hand, and raises one eyebrow.

“Let me?”

Yasha just nods, eyes wide.

Beau doesn’t let her go, but uses her free hand to wrap her throat, gently.

She looks at Yasha for confirmation, and Yasha nods again, frantic.

Beau’s tongue caresses her lips, and Yasha parts them in want; Beau keeps going, licking down on Yasha’s chin, following the line of her tattoo and then back up, sucking on pale and bruised skin and cleaning up Yasha’s mouth from her own juices.

Yasha remains still, eyelids fluttering close and body melting against the lockers.

Beau drops the hold on her wrist, but it remains where it is, right next to her head. Beau’s fingers skin down Yasha’s shoulder to get a hold of her other arm, and she brings it on top of Yasha’s head.

Yasha immediately gets the gist of the situation, opening her eyes to meet Beau’s.

Beau grabs both of Yasha’s wrists with her free hand, pressing them against the lockers.

With the other, she squeezes just so around her throat, and Yasha tilts her head with a moan.

Beau starts kissing and biting onto her skin, peppering her neck with small, dark signs. When she’s satisfied, with Yasha writhing against her, Beau goes back to her mouth, slipping her tongue between Yasha’s still parted lips.

Only then Beau lets go of her neck, and her hand starts roaming down Yasha’s torso, under her sports bra, and squeezing tight on Yasha’s breast.

Beau has to get on her toes to manage to kiss Yasha and to keep her still against the lockers, but she doesn’t mind.

Slowly, she moves her mouth to Yasha’s ear, starting to nip at her lobe and almost groaning at the sounds that Yasha makes.

It’s a torture, and she knows it. She keeps Yasha wanting, wishing, she builds up her pleasure without really making any move to get any lower than her stomach.

She doesn’t know for how long she does it, alternating between sucking on her skin and driving her tongue deep inside Yasha’s mouth, but finally Yasha’s hips jerk forward.

The woman opens her eyes, dark and bottomless like they were as they fought in the cage, and stares Beau down.

“Beauregard.” She pleads.

Beau throws all her good intentions to the wind.

If a woman like her looks at her like that, Beau is already a goner. But when Yasha, who could very well free herself up from Beau’s grip in a second, who has almost punched her unconscious during their fight, whispers her name like _that_ …

Beau hasn’t done feelings in a while, because feelings are messy, feelings are ugly and chaotic and they never are easy.

But she feels it in her bones that she’s going to be dreaming about those eyes, she’s going to be thinking about biting those lips over and over again.

It’s a fine line that she’s tip toeing right now.

Other girls had not been able to get close enough to find out about Beau’s secret life; it was the perfect failsafe to avoid catching feelings for people who were not going to stick around anyway. But Yasha.

Yasha is in just as deep as she is.

Catching feelings is just a matter of mistepping over that fine line, and Beau has closed her eyes to it more than once already.

She splays her palm over Yasha’s abdomen and slips her fingers inside her shorts and boxers.

Beau leans her forehead on Yasha’s shoulder, barely stifling a groan. Yasha is _dripping_.

“Fuck. Yasha.”

Yasha murmurs some unintelligible sound, eyelids fluttering close as Beau finally starts moving her fingers.

She keeps Yasha’s hands still above her head, and doesn’t exactly lose any more time torturing the woman.

When Beau’s index and middle finger caress her opening, Yasha opens up to her like she’s only been waiting for that moment; Beau angles her wrist, bending her knees just enough to then drive upwards with her whole body.

Yasha cries out, eyes closed and lips parted, and fuck, if Beau wasn’t sure she was crushing hard before, she certainly knows she is now.

She starts moving in and out of her, groaning at her tightness, suffocating her own noises on Yasha’s shoulder and biting down on her pale, soft skin.

Yasha’s hips obediently and rhythmically meet her hand, as Beau uses all her body to keep slamming inside of her, keeping her pressed against the lockers.

“Beau…” Yasha moans, loud, and Beau doesn’t exactly know what she’s doing that is giving Yasha so much pleasure, but she wants to keep doing it forever, even if someone walks in on them, even if the audience stops screaming outside and starts listening in on everything they’re doing.

“Yasha…” she whispers back, sucking gently on her bite marks.

Yasha wiggles her fingers, and Beau almost absentmindedly loosens her grip on her wrists. Beau doesn’t shift positions, and at some point between her relentless pounding and Yasha’s murmurs of pleasure, their fingers slip between each other and intertwine.

With their left hands locked together, Yasha’s right slides down Beau’s forearm, her elbow, her shoulder, and then back up her neck, cupping the back of her head.

Yasha’s fingers skim through the short hair of Beau’s undercut, and then close on her bun. She pulls, forcing Beau’s head to tilt upward.

Beau groans, until her voice is suffocated by Yasha’s bruising kiss, as she crashes their lips together.

Almost exactly at the same time, Yasha’s body shakes, and her walls clench hard on Beau’s fingers as she comes.

Beau feels herself shaking, too, both for the effort and for the amount of crazy scary feelings that come crashing down on her.

Finally, after what is either a few minutes or a few more lifetimes, their kiss slows down. The rough biting at each other's lips turns into gentle nipping, and the fight for dominance between their tongues becomes a lazy, soft dance.

Beau kisses Yasha’s lips once, twice. She places a kiss at the corner of her mouth then finally takes a step back, slowly sliding out of her.

Their hands fall apart, and Yasha lowers her arms and shakes them out.

They avoid each other’s gaze for a long moment.

Beau stares at the floor, wiggles her toes and scratches the back of her neck, before finally finding the courage to look up.

Just as Yasha does the same.

They both avert their eyes, again, almost embarrassed, and releasing a twin chuckle.

Beau bites down on her lip to stop herself from saying something stupid, but when she finally looks at Yasha again, the other woman has the smallest of smiles on her face and is already looking at her.

Beau grins, instinctively, then throws a thumb behind her, pointing at the door to the washrooms.

“...Shower?”

Yasha’s eyes dart to the door, then to Beau’s eyes, and finally down Beau’s body. They stop where Beau’s abs are, and then look back up.

Beau swallows when she sees Yasha’s pupils quickly dilating once more.

Yasha nods.

It’s going to be a fun night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while since last time I wrote something explicit. Hope I didn't lose my touch.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more plot, and the disaster lesbians see each other again.
> 
> Non-Beta'd.

Chapter Three   


“You had sex.”

Beau doesn’t exactly know how Jester manages to tell every single time, but she does, and she’s rarely seen her miss her mark.

Her statement makes everyone else at the table look up, and Beau rolls her eyes.

Sure, maybe she’s not the easiest person on the globe, but every time her friends act so surprised when they hear she’s gotten laid.

She grabs her drink from where Veth is trying to steal it and leans back on her chair. She shrugs.

Molly leans across the table to slap her forearm, in what he probably considers the equivalent of a high five. Beau slaps him back before he can settle back in his seat.

“Well,” Fjord starts with an awkward chuckle “Did she give you those bruises, too?”

Beau snorts, successfully hiding her face and her expression from the others.

It would be actual chaos if her friends were to find out that yes, it had indeed been the same girl to both fuck her and smash her face.

She knows that Fjord is just trying to both relieve everyone’s curiosity without sounding too invasive and also express his concern in regard to her cuts and bruises.

They’ve never been this bad, and not even the concealer had been able to help her, this time around.

Of course, her excuse is and always will be the same.

“Uh, yeah, nah. Training yesterday was particularly rough. I sparred with a new person, and I got distracted.” she says “It’s totally fine, though.”

Fjord and Jester exchange a look, and Caleb briefly looks up from his book to stare down at her.

Just like always, though, no one says anything.

Beau knows they don’t believe her, and that’s probably why she constantly feels like her friends don’t trust her enough as a friend.

She tells herself that she doesn’t care, but she knows she does.

Just like she knows that telling them the truth would probably push them away faster and further than if she just, well, lies.

And she can’t lose them. That ragtag group of friends is the closest she has to a real family, and as much as she thinks that they’re never going to be able to love her like she wishes they did, she’s not ready to lose them.

They’re the only good thing that’s ever really happened to her, and she’s not ready to let them go just yet.

“So, how was it?” Jester asks, sucking on her pencil.

There’s another fun thing about Jester. She doesn’t necessarily need to know  _ who  _ it is about, but she definitely needs to know the details of how it was.

Beau just shrugs. She can’t exactly tell them it was the best sex she’s had in a while, and quite possibly the best sex, period.

I mean, sex with Keg had been fantastic, but Yasha had gotten really close to that in a single night.

“It was good. Fine. Good. She definitely knew what she was doing.” she finally answers, when Jester’s curious gaze doesn’t leave her. She moves out of the way to avoid another one of Molly’s slaps and shoots him a glare.

He’s not around a lot, always busy with this or that commitment with the circus, so every time he has time to spare, the group tries to get together for a lunch date.

Beau loves him, she really does, but he can get under her skin like nobody else in the group. Instead of slapping him back, though, Beau looks up to meet Caleb’s eyes. She hasn’t known him for as long as she’s known Jester, but the two of them have always been very close.

Now, Caleb’s someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.

He simply raises one eyebrow at her and Beau half smiles back. Fjord catches their interaction, looking between his two friends with curiosity.

When Jester opens her mouth to try and ask something more, though, he interjects.

“What about you, Mollymauk? How are things with the circus?” Fjord asks, successfully shifting everyone’s attention towards Molly.

He starts talking about the new show they are preparing, of their lack of personnel, and how he’s technically been put in charge of recruitment. Beau only half listens, her thoughts wandering away as she goes back to the memory of Yasha.

She wonders where she is now, what daily job keeps her occupied, and if her friends ask her half as many questions as Beau’s do.

Jester suggests something that sounds horrifyingly close to volunteering their time to help Molly, and Beau decides it’s probably time for her to go.

She’s promised Dairon to help out with some new classes for beginners, and Beau is never one to turn down extra cash.

The idea of volunteering at a circus is not something that excites her friends anyway, and Veth and Caduceus call for their bills at the same time as she does.

Fjord and Caleb look helplessly at them as they get up, somehow always finding themselves roped into whatever plan Jester is concocting. Molly sits back on his chair, fully aware of what’s going on and not making a single move to help his friends out.

He enjoys the drama, the bastard.

Caleb and Fjord look at her, as Veth scampers away before anyone can stop her and Caduceus starts wandering toward the door.

Beau takes pity on them.

“Jes, no one wants to help Molly put up a tent or stop teenagers from throwing eggs at the performers.” she looks at the relief on Fjord and Caleb’s faces and decides to add, “The teenagers would be the ones carrying them away anyway. They are barely able to lift a case of water on their own.”

Fjord and Caleb straighten up on their chairs, as Molly openly starts laughing.

Jester seems to think about it for a moment, looking at the young men sitting on each side of her at the table.

She nods.

“You know what, you’re right. We all saw Fjord fail at the Ren Fair last year, and Caleb had to ask for help putting up a shelf. No offence, guys.”

“Some taken?!” Fjord exclaims, a slight flush on his cheeks. Caleb just shrugs.

Jester throws herself in another conversation with Molly, who still hasn’t managed to stop laughing, and Beau takes it as her cue to leave. She waves at her friends and walks out their favorite cafe, only to find Caduceus waiting for her, engrossed in one of the flower pots on the outdoor patio.

“Do you think I’d be able to grow an  _ amanita ocreata _ on my balcony?” he asks as soon as she steps out.

“Errr…”

Caduceus doesn’t look up, caressing the lavender in the flower pot. He doesn’t respond.   
Beau scratches the back of her neck.

“Would you like me to check?”

Caduceus turns to look at her, a joyful, thankful smile appearing on his face.

“Please.”

Beau rolls her eyes with a smile. Caduceus doesn’t own a phone, and he relies on his friends for pretty much everything that concerns researching different varieties of plants and herbs.

She grabs her phone from her back pocket and googles the name of whatever the plant is that Cad wants to grow.

She only reads the first line before an alarm goes off in her head.   
“Cad, is this a  _ poisonous  _ mushroom?!”

Caduceus goes back to caressing the lavender. He nods, calm as one can be.

“Quite deadly, yes.” he confirms. “Can I grow it?”

Beau snorts, looking at the Wikipedia page for the fungus Caduceus seems so eager to break the law for.

“Logistically, I think you could. It doesn’t require a crazy kind of weather or anything. But it is definitely not legal, buddy.”

Caduceus seems to deflate at the news, and sighs.

“How unfortunate.”

Beau grins, grabbing Caduceus by the arm and tugging him away from the lavender and from whatever other plant that might have spurred that sudden interest in deadly mushrooms.

“ _ Yenno _ , I’m also not an expert. You should ask Fjord and see what he says.”

She tells him, fully aware that this is going to give Fjord an actual heart attack.

“That is a good idea, Beau. I will.” Caduceus smiles at her, walking calmly next to her. “Are you still coming for dinner tonight?”

Beau nods. 

“Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Fjord told me you’ve been looking forward to cooking some new recipes.”

Caduceus smiles, happily.

“Oh, yes. It’s a creamy mushroom soup I put together last week.”

Beau makes a mental note to ask Fjord to supervise which plant ends up going in their dinner.

***

Yasha stares in disappointment at the big, cardboard sign on the door of her favorite coffee shop, the one where she usually goes to sit at, hook on the Wi-Fi and check Craigslist for jobs.

The money from her fights is usually good enough to cover the week’s expenses, but she is also trying her best to do small jobs on the side in order to pay for rent and to put some funds aside for emergencies. As it is, she’s already going to have to use that emergency fund to eat, today, unless she can find something else to keep her afloat.

Obann doesn’t care whether or not she finds a place to live or whether or not she eats enough, as long as she shows up for her fights and wins them.

He hadn’t been particularly happy after last night’s loss, and Yasha is not looking forward to facing him if she loses again.

Not that she’s planning to, of course.

She shakes her head, trying to get rid of the memory that keeps popping up into her brain. A pair of blue eyes and dark, soft skin under her fingertips.

Yasha sighs. She can’t dwell on fantasies. She feels guilty enough for what she’s done, feeling like she’s mudded the memory of Zuala, somehow.

Deep inside of her, she tells herself that sex means nothing, that it’s a release like any other.

Deep inside of her, she knows that Zuala wouldn’t have cared. Even then, the guilt doesn’t leave her, and Yasha needs to occupy her brain with some manual labor.

But her favorite spot is under renovation, and it will remain as such for at least three weeks, and Yasha has no idea where else to go to find a cheap lunch and free internet connection.

She turns around, looking up and down the street, noticing how everyone around her side steps to avoid getting close.

She tries to stop a couple people for information, but they all widen their eyes and hurry away.

She knows she’s big and scary looking, and the massive bruise around her eye probably doesn’t help, but she’s always put off by how people act around her, without even knowing her or what she’s going through.

Finally, as her shoulders slump and she considers giving up for the day, a high pitched voice catches her attention.

She looks down, and a woman in her forties raises an eyebrow at her.

She doesn’t look friendly  _ at all _ , but she crosses her arms and starts talking to her nonetheless.

“You need directions, or something?”

Yasha smiles and nods.

“I-uhm, I usually come here to use their free Wi-Fi and their computer to look for jobs, but it’s closed, now.” she says, almost without catching a breath between words. “Do you, do you know another coffee shop like this one, or any internet point that I could go to?”

The small woman looks at her with suspicion.

“It doesn’t matter how far.” Yasha adds, almost desperate at this point, “I can walk.”

The woman sighs and shakes her head, then turns to point at some place down the street.

“There’s a cafe four blocks that way. They’ve got some really good scones, too. The owner is an ass, but you can ask him to use one of the computers in the back.”

Yasha smiles, grateful, nodding and clutching her bag.

“Uh, thank you. I appreciate it.”

The woman waves her hand.

“Whatever. Bye!” and walks away.

Yasha stares at her in fascination, not entirely sure whether that woman was only that suspicious and skittish towards her or if that’s how she would normally act around everyone else.

She decides to trust her anyway, and starts walking.

The cafe is poorly lit, and not exactly the cleanest place Yasha’s seen, but it’s surprisingly full of people. She notices a couple tables with groups of friends hanging out, some with food and drinks, some others with board games open in between them.

She looks around, immediately noticing the bulletin board next to the to-go orders countertop. She tries to make herself smaller, with poor results, as she nears the board to take a look at the fliers.

She grabs a couple numbers from people who need help moving heavy furniture and others who are looking for dog walkers, knowing fully well that the latter will not be as successful as the former. People tend to suddenly change their minds about who they’re trusting their dogs to be with once they see how she is in person.

Yasha always wonders what it is that she does that makes people so afraid of her.

As she’s considering taking the phone number for a person who needs a tutor before their Xhorhasian history test, a figure pops up next to her.

“Are you looking for a job, darling?”

Yasha turns to her left, where an eccentric but elegant young person is staring at her through their massive sunglasses. Their hair is a bright purple, and it looks like they’ve gotten dressed by picking blindly from a store that only sold neon fabrics.

For whatever reason, it works on them.

“I am, yes.” she says, uncertain.

The person extends their hand, their bracelets jingling as they move.

“Well, how fortunate. Because I am looking for a new employee.”   
Yasha briefly wonders what kind of job a person like them could be offering, but she takes the bait.

“What do you need help with?”

They smile, revealing some ridiculously sharp canines. What an interesting individual.

“Well, my circus and I are looking for a bodyguard, someone who could scare away scoundrels who have no intention of being respectful of our art. We need someone who can commit to weekends, day and night.”

Yasha finds herself immediately tempted, and she looks down at the outstretched hand. She could really use some sort of stable job.

She looks back up.

“We pay cash.” they add with a smirk.

Yasha releases a breath and smiles, finally reaching out to grab their outstretched hand.

“I would love to help out. My name is Yasha.”

Mollymauk smiles.

“Charming. You can call me Molly. It’s a pleasure to be in business with you.”

***

It’s a full week before Beau sees her again.

She goes to her usual fights over the weekend, looking through the crowd in the hope to see her there, but she quickly realizes that if she hadn’t noticed her before it’s simply because Yasha doesn’t hang out there when it’s not Main Circle night.

It makes sense, but it doesn’t quell the disappointment that fills Beau’s stomach.

She fights her usual fights, taking home a discrete amount of money, which doesn’t even compare to what she’s won at the Main Circle.

She can’t complain, really, but she briefly considers giving up her usual category to focus on the big one instead.

But she knows she can’t afford to lose any sort of income at the moment. She is not going to touch her trust fund, not even for emergencies, and her job at the library doesn’t exactly pay her all that well.

She has a goal in mind and she needs to save up in order to accomplish it.

Either way, she makes sure to arrive at the Villa with some time to spare, and only when she is walking through the empty parking lot of the property she realizes that two hours in advance is probably the earliest anyone’s ever showed up to these things.

She trudges through the back area of the Villa, waving at the security guard and making her way through the backdoor and down the stairs. She takes the left corridor to the women’s locker room and opens the door.

Yasha turns to look at her, a shirt in one hand and a sports bra in the other.

She’s wearing skinny jeans, ripped at the knee, combat boots and a loose bra that has definitely seen better days.

Beau slowly closes the door behind her.

“Uh, hey.”

Yasha barely moves. She only shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

Beau’s eyes drop on her flat, muscular stomach and then back up, to her face.

She blinks.

Yasha slowly puts down her clothes on the bench next to her.

“Hello.”

They stare at each other without saying a word, until Beau dares raising her hand and turning the lock to the entrance door.

The soft click is almost too loud in the silence of the room.

But just as she does, a shadow passes through Yasha’s face, and before she knows it, Beau finds herself pressed against the door, Yasha’s hands on her ass and Yasha’s tongue slipping inside her mouth.

“How-How was your week?”

Beau regrets those words the moment they leave her mouth.

Yasha awkwardly fixes the hem of her sports bra, shrugging helplessly.

“Uhm, it was good. It was okay, I think.” she says, hesitantly. “Yours?”

Beau nods, rummaging through her bag to find her own fighting gear.

“Good, good. It was alright, nothing special.”

Silence once again falls between the two of them.

Beau desperately wants to say something, something smart, something that is going to make Yasha want to talk to her.

But the more she tries to figure out what a smart topic of conversation could be, the less she can come up with.

She gives up soon after, deciding to change into her clothes and wait until her fight.

Yasha disappears into the bathroom, and Beau takes a deep breath.

It’s crazy. The whole situation is crazy.

They have the most amazing sex that Beau has had in a really long time, quite possibly ever, but after that is over, is almost like a wall is raised between the two of them.

Beau wants to get to know her, she really does.

Yasha has something about her, something scary, if Beau has to be completely honest.

Not because of the way she looks, of course, but there is something beautiful in her, something mysterious, something that pulls Beau closer like a magnet, that awakes feelings in her and makes her want to risk it all.

She rubs her eyes with her palms, and she’s startled out of her own skin when Yasha’s voice, definitely closer than what Beau’d expects, tears her away from her own thoughts.

“So, hey, uhm. I’ve been meaning to ask…”

Beau jumps up, straightening her spine and looking at Yasha, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Yeah?”

Yasha shuffles closer, looking away.

“I’ve been wondering how you managed to knock my breath away, you know, when we fought?”

Beau smiles, despite herself, and nods.

“Yeah. The people here call it ‘stunning strike’. It’s dumb, really, but the audience loves it. I try to do it every time I can, but it has to be done just right, or it doesn’t work.”

At some point during her answer, Yasha has turned to look at her, and is now listening with rapt attention.

Beau feels slightly swept off her feet by the sudden engagement.

Just a minute ago, she was desperately trying to figure out how to strike any resemblance of conversation, without even considering that what she should’ve focused on is the very same thing that brought them together in the first place.

“It’s actually- you, you want me to show you?”

Yasha doesn’t hesitate, this time. She nods, eagerly, stepping around the bench to go wait for Beau in the middle of the room.

Beau finishes putting her stuff inside her bag, locks it away, then walks up to Yasha. She raises a hand just a few inches shy of Yasha’s abdomen.

“May I?”

It almost feels dumb to ask if she can touch her when those very same fingers had been buried deep in Yasha’s sex no more than half hour ago. But Beau is not one to cross anyone’s personal boundaries, and Yasha herself seems thankful that she’d asked.

Nonetheless, Yasha nods again.

Beau places her palm against Yasha’s skin, her fingers grazing her ribcage.

“The liver is right about here, in the upper right-hand portion of the abdominal cavity, beneath the diaphragm, and on top of the stomach, right kidney, and intestines.” Beau explains, pressing with her fingers for every organ she mentions.

“It’s not hard to find while standing still, but it gets more complicated to hit once fighters move around.”

Yasha keeps nodding, quietly, looking where Beau is pointing and tracing the same pattern with her own fingers.

“It’s quite hard to hit with a direct hook, as all the other organs would end up protecting it, in a way.” Beau continues, as she moves around Yasha. She bends her knees, twists her torso and then mimics the movement of an uppercut. “Which is why you have to hit it from the bottom-up.”

Yasha’s eyes shine in understanding.

“Can you show me again?” she asks, curious and eager to learn.   
Beau grins.   
“Hell yeah.”

They spend the next half hour moving around one another, trying and correcting each other as Beau teaches her the proper angle to her infamous strike.

Yasha drinks it all in, nodding to everything that Beau says, and following every step.

They end up shadowboxing in the middle of the room, Beau going first to show her her favorite set of movements and strikes, and Yasha to follow, nose scrunched in concentration.

“You hit them just right, and they won’t be able to breathe.” Beau tells her with a knowing grin, once they finally sit back down, backs pressed against the wall. “Some fall directly at your feet. It was fucking impressive, how you resisted. I’ve seen men double my size curl up in a ball on the floor.”

Yasha faintly smiles, a soft blush spreading on her cheeks.

“I- Well, thank you.”

“You are very strong.”

Yasha scratches her shoulder.

“I was told, yeah.”

She looks up at Beau with a soft smile, before both of them avert their gaze.

Beau flicks one of the tiles off the floor with her toe, then tries to drag it back into place with her heel.

“How did you get into fighting?”

When she looks up, Yasha is staring at her own hands.

Beau shrugs.   
“Been doing MMA since I got into college. My trainer took a liking on me, I guess, and I was always a bit of a natural. From then on, it was just a matter of finding good places to fight.”

She hesitates. She knows, deep down, that Yasha wouldn’t judge. She knows that, if anyone is to really understand what fighting means to her, that person is Yasha.

She contemplates opening herself up, and almost laughs out loud at the thought.

“It’s good money.” she ends up saying, as the tile slots back into its place. “You?”

Yasha doesn’t move. She barely even breathes. 

Beau waits, forcing herself to stay put and not get up and leave, to avoid any awkward silence if Yasha decides to ignore her question.

“I’m big, and I’m strong.” Yasha finally says, finally turning to face her. There is something in her eyes, something that tells Beau that she is far, far away in the deep corners of her mind.

Beau nods, leaning with her head against the wall, but not breaking eye contact with Yasha.

“And it’s good money.” she supplies.

Yasha sighs, sadness coloring her features.

“Yes. And it’s good money.” she echoes.

They both know that money is only a small percentage of their stories. They both know the other holds secrets and pains and possibly traumas, and they both acknowledge that today is not the day, nor the time, to share it with the other.

Beau is somewhat aware of the fact that, at the very least, they both seem to be trusting the other enough to consider, one day, sharing the actual truth.

It is one of the most terrifying thoughts that has crossed Beau’s mind in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, a comment is always very appreciated!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some insight and fluff, before sh*t starts hitting the fan.

Chapter Four

It becomes part of her routine.

For someone who has been alone for so long, it’s almost unbalancing to have someone to spend her time with.

Even before meeting Zuala, Yasha hadn’t exactly been a social butterfly. She’d left her home country halfway through her teenage years, alone and escaping a country plagued by wars, a country where making friends was close to impossible.

And once she’d gotten to the Empire, finding friends had been even harder, not knowing the language and only hanging out at shelters for refugees. Zuala had been one of them.

One of the refugees. They’d stuck together, and it had made everything else bearable.

Yasha doesn’t remember ever feeling any sort of love or attachment for any other person before meeting Zuala.

She barely remembers growing up, running from city to city, shelter to shelter, and she most definitely doesn’t remember any family.

She thinks they must’ve been there, at some point. For how long, Yasha wouldn’t be able to say.

Coming to the Empire should have been her big change. People in Xhorhas always described it as the place where all her dreams would’ve come true. Needless to say, they’d turned out to be a bunch of false hopes.

Yasha is not sure whether or not she’d ever had a dream anyway.

But meeting Zuala had opened up a world to her. Suddenly, after fifteen years of nothing but surviving, Yasha had for the first time experienced what it was like to live, to breathe, to wake up everyday with a purpose. That purpose had been Zuala, and making her smile and making her feel loved.

Even once Zuala had fallen ill, Yasha’s goal had been the one to provide for her, to ensure that Zuala had access to all her medicines.

With Zuala’s death, Yasha’s purpose had vanished, too, together with any sense of normalcy.

She’d stopped hoping for a normal life, like the one that Xhorhasian kids used to dream about under a sky clouded by the smoke of bombs.

She’d kept surviving, roped in the nightmare that Obann had sewn for her, without hoping to come out of it as a winner.

Only in the past few months, after moving to Zadash, Yasha has really started to think of the possibility of getting free of her jailer.

The money from the Villa is good, better than any other place they’ve ever been in, and Yasha has considered more than once to try and finally buy herself out of it.

But even then, after three months of roaming aimlessly around the massive city, she’d never really thought she’d find any friend.

Yasha stops in her tracks just as the thought hits her.

It’s weird.

She has something that resembles a job, now. Mollymauk, true to his word, has given her employment at the  _ Fletching and Moondrop Carnival of Curiosities _ .

It’s an eccentric place, but the people there work well together, and somehow, weirdly enough, she fits in.

No one pays her any mind, really, as they’re all too busy prepping for their own acts, but Yasha is happy this way. They nod to her as a greeting, and they make room for her at the table when they break for lunch.

At night, before their performance, they include her in their pre-show shenanigans.

Mollymauk himself, incredibly enough, glues to her side like he’s been waiting his whole life to meet her, and is now trying to make up for the lost time.

Yasha is not used to having someone so exuberant, so talkative, so cheerful and easy going around, but she doesn’t hate it.

Mollymauk’s presence is almost comforting, and Yasha looks for him every time she steps foot inside the Circus property, at the beginning of every weekend.

The third week, when she accidentally reveals that she has to walk almost two hours every day in order to get to and from work, Molly finds her a tent to sleep in and arranges for her to stay on the grounds for the whole duration of the weekend.

The following week, he shows up in front of her tent with a bicycle. It’s rusty, and a bit too small for Yasha’s massive build, but it works.

“How can I repay you?” she asks, awe written all over her features. She has never owned a bike.

She’s never owned much, in general, let alone something so wonderful as a bike.

“You don’t have to, darling.” Molly says with a laugh, delighted by the unbridled joy in Yasha’s eyes.

“Molly.”

“Yasha.”

“I’m serious.”

“I am, too.” Molly smiles and puts a hand on her shoulder, staring down at her at eye level. He’s wearing a pair of ridiculously high heels, and he’s almost as tall as her. “This thing was probably stolen in the first place, and they practically paid  _ me  _ to get rid of it. I’m a scoundrel, but not even I expect to receive money from this.”

Yasha doesn’t really know what to say. To her, a bike is worth more than what Mollymauk seems to make it up to be.

“Yasha, my darling. Consider it a gift.” Molly says with a smile.

Yasha can only nod, still speechless, and Molly places a kiss on her temple and walks away, hips swaying in the warm summer air.

The bike cuts her travel time in almost half.

She is grateful to have Mollymauk in her life, but it’s only a week after his gift that she realizes that Molly is now her  _ friend _ .

She cares about him, and she wants to be in his company.

Not only that, but she is pretty sure Molly feels the same about her.

Mollymauk Tealeaf, her one and only friend.

Because then,  _ ah _ . Then there’s Beauregard.

Yasha is sure of very little, but she is quite certain she can’t exactly define Beau as a friend.

They don’t talk nearly as much as she and Molly do, so she wouldn’t say they are there yet, but at the same time it feels like she’s so much more than that.

It bothers her, but it bothers her for all the wrong reasons.

Together with her job at the  _ Fletching and Moondrop _ , Beauregard becomes part of her routine.

If her weekends are spent at the circus, her whole Wednesday becomes a “Beauregard Day”.

It starts off slowly.

At first, they find themselves inside the locker room, two or three hours before the crowd starts gathering. They find themselves sharing a nod, a look, before pressing each other against the lockers, fingers buried deep inside each other, suffocating moans in each other’s mouth.

The sex is spectacular. At first, Yasha thinks that it’s just because she hasn’t gotten laid in a while. But it becomes pretty clear that Beauregard is just  _ good _ .

It’s like she knows exactly where to touch her and how to do it.

She is strong, way stronger than she looks, and she has good stamina.

Yasha cums on Beau’s fingers, with Beau’s lips sucking at her skin, and for a few, blissful seconds, everything else fades away.

Then, things start to shift, almost imperceptibly. 

It happens on a crisp, fall day. The nights have started to shorten, and the last warm days of summer are becoming a long forgotten memory. Yasha decides to walk to the Villa, instead of using her brand new bike, and she stops a couple of times to pick flowers.

She finds wildflowers and dandelions and daisies, and when she walks in front of the bar she’s met Molly at, she stops to smell the lavender in the flower pot outside.

It doesn’t exactly delay her arrival to the Villa, but just as she’s about to round the corner, a voice comes up from behind her.

“Yo! Wait up!”

Yasha turns to see Beau jogging towards her with a soft grin on her face.

“Hey, Yash.” Beau says, and Yasha’s heart hiccups.

She doesn’t know what it is, if it’s the nickname Beau’s just used, or the raw beauty of Beauregard herself, but her heart flutters for a moment before starting to beat back at a normal pace.

Beauregard is wearing a pair of low-crotch blue pants, a black hoodie and matching sneakers. Her face is clean and free of any make up, and there’s only a light shadow under her eyes.

Beau looks relaxed, and cozy, as she swings her backpack on one shoulder.

“Hey, Beau.” Yasha murmurs back, lowering her gaze on her flowers and twisting them in her hands.

It bothers her that she doesn’t know enough about Beau to consider her a friend. It bothers her that she feels so good when her and Beau spar in the locker room or fuck against the shower wall, at at once it bothers her that they don’t spend nearly enough time to get to know each other.

It bothers Yasha that she doesn’t know much about Beau, and it bothers her that she wants to know so desperately. 

They both shuffle awkwardly on their feet, before Beau clears her voice.

“Do you… I mean, we’re early, and we’re not going to be fighting until the second half, tonight, so… If you want, do you, do you want to go for like, a walk?”

Yasha stares.

She stares so intensely that she sees Beau’s dark skin flushing ever so slightly, before Beau starts shrugging.

“Y’know, nevermind, it’s definitely not-”   
“Yes.”

Beau’s eyes shoot up.

“What?”

Yasha swallows the warmth brought by the idea of spending some time with Beau.

“I- Yes, I would like to go for, like, a walk.”

Yasha is not sure if it’s the smartest choice. Whatever it is that is building up between herself and Beauregard is dangerous, and unknown, and scary.

She is not supposed to betray Zuala’s memory like that.

But the smile that splits Beau’s features is so bright and so honest, that Yasha finds it a little easier to swallow the guilt, too.

***

It becomes part of her routine. 

Their routine, Beau almost dares thinking.

They haven’t fought against each other in the cage again, not after that first night. There’s a whole round of people they have to circle back to before it’s time for a rematch.

Secretly, Beau is happy. As much as she wants to fight with Yasha again, she fears what might happen after they do.

That first fight had spurred what they have now, and Beau is terrified that something might shift if they end up in the cage together again.

She tries not to think about it too often, anyway.

But whatever it is that they’re building, it builds fast.

From one week to the other, they start walking together. They don’t do much other than walk side by side, Yasha stopping once in a while to collect this or that flower, and Beau pointing out a building or two and telling Yasha about the history of it.

She might have snoozed through half of her classes in college, but she loves the history of Exandria, and she’s made it a point of learning as much as she can of each city she’s lived in or traveled to.

Yasha doesn’t say much, but listens with rapt attention to everything that comes out of Beau’s mouth.

They circle back toward the Villa once they’re half an hour shy of the first fight, and they don’t say a word about it afterwards.

(Yasha drops on her knees and eats her out at the end of the night, until Beau is squirming and moaning, and Beau thinks it might be her way of saying “thank you”).

The week after, Beau arrives at the Villa to find Yasha waiting outside.

They never exchange numbers, and Beau never asks for one. Seeing how Yasha is, she doubts she owns a phone anyway. She doesn’t mind.

In a way, she is grateful. It just means she has the chance to get to know Yasha during their walks, even though Yasha is very protective of her personal life.

Beau can understand that, too.

As much as she shares about her city, her time in college and, sometimes, her friends, she never really tells Yasha about before. About her family, her dad, her siblings.

Even so, Beau realizes how much of herself she’s letting Yasha see, and how much she’s getting in return.

Yasha is not very talkative, but there’s something about her and how she moves that draws Beau in.

She is soft spoken, and funny in a deadpan way. Her humor shines through in the most random moments, and Beau is always surprised and always terribly amused.

She’s not sure what she likes most, the dumb jokes Yasha makes with a serious face, or the way her lips curl into a half, smug smile when Beau ends up laughing her ass off.

Yasha likes to collect flowers. Beau watches her as she always scouts for new ones, sometimes ducking through bushes just to find one that she doesn’t already have.

One day, halfway through fall, Yasha shoots her a glance before pulling out a book and finding an empty page to press her flowers in.

Beau doesn’t say anything about it, simply watching the multitude of colors as Yasha runs through the pages.

“I found this the first day after moving to Zadash.” Yasha tells her, pointing at a dull, blue flower that Beau has seen growing in the outskirts of the city, around soccer fields and parking lots.

“It’s pretty.” Beau says, sounding incredibly lame. But her comment makes Yasha smile, duck her head and blush, and Beau doesn’t care about anything anymore.

It’s the first of many small details that Yasha lets out, slowly but intentionally opening herself up.

One day, with winter just around the corner, Beau steps on a leaf, and it crunches under her sneaker. Yasha stops dead in her tracks. She is wearing her usual ripped jeans and a AC/DC tank top, only covered by a run down leather jacket.

“That was the most beautiful sound in the world.” Yasha says, serious as one can be.

Beau sees a spark in those heterochromatic eyes, and she has to hold herself back from the laughter that’s bubbling up.

“You like the sound of dry leaves, Yash?” she asks, fully knowing the answer already.

Yasha grins.

At that sight, Beau can’t help it anymore.

She starts laughing, openly and honestly, and makes a gesture with her head.

“Come.”

She then grabs her hand, instinctively, to pull Yasha with her.

They both look at each other, immediately, laughter dying out, but Yasha doesn’t step away, and their hands remain locked.

Beau decides to not overthink it too much, and drags Yasha to the streets of Zadash, trying not to think about their hands fitting together, about how their bodies seem to fit so nicely in more ways than one.

Yasha’s skin is cold, and it’s a stark contrast with Beau’s warm one, and Beau gently caresses the back of Yasha’s hand. Once. Twice.

After a moment of silent walking, Yasha squeezes her hand. 

When Beau looks up, Yasha is barely hiding a smile.

She takes her to her favorite park.

There are leaves of all shapes and colors, and Beau starts racking them up with her bare hands, while Yasha walks around.

Beau spends a good ten minutes collecting leaves in a giant pile, all the while listening to the soft, crackling sound of leaves being crunched.

When she looks up, Yasha has her arms slightly opened, and is walking around trying to step on as many dry leaves as she can, chuckling to herself when she finds a particularly crunchy one.

Beau drops some leaves, not really caring about anything else in the world except for the sight of Yasha happily walking around the park, while the last leaves of the season fall and fly all around her.

***

Yasha looks up, and finds Beau staring at her, mouth slightly agape and a couple brown leaves stuck in her hair.

She is bundled up in a blue windbreaker and a big scarf, with her black skinny jeans doing ridiculously attractive things to her legs. Yasha doesn’t think Beau would take it as the most endearing compliment, but she looks tremendously  _ cute _ .

Beau is looking at her with happiness and wonder in her eyes, and Yasha  _ hates  _ what that does to her heart.

She faintly realizes that it’s been a couple of weeks now since the last time they’ve fucked, always preferring to go out for long walks before their fights, and always tending to each other’s injuries at the end of the night.

She misses the sex just a bit, but she wouldn’t change it for the world.

Getting to know Beau has been the most precious gift Yasha wasn’t ever expecting to receive.

Beau is actually quite talkative, once she finds the right topic. Yasha has listened to her talking about their local library for close to twenty minutes before Beau had stopped herself with a blush and stuttered something about being sorry for her word vomit.

They’ve managed to get to know small things about each other, little details here and there, and Yasha is fascinated by Beauregard and her way of approaching life.

They are both aware that there are things left unsaid, personal things, private things, but Beau doesn’t seem to care how long it takes for Yasha to open up, and Yasha is grateful.

Beau is something she never expected to find.

Yasha has built walls around her heart and has kept them there for a very long time.

She’s always told herself to not let them out, and it’s hard to do so when she can’t even forgive herself for what’s happened.

But the more she looks at Beau, the more she wants. 

What it is, that she wants, she’s not so sure, but she knows Beau is in it.

Sometimes it’s hard to hold a stare with her. But Yasha wants it. She wants her.

And her desire leaves bruises that go deeper than the ones she carries on her skin.

She can’t. She  _ can’t _ .

And yet, her feet carry her to Beau, to that grin of hers.

“Look.” Beau tells her, pointing at the pile of leaves she’s racked together, just behind her.

And Yasha looks, just briefly, before placing a hand on Beau’s chest and shoving her in.

Beau falls in with a huff, the leaves still in her arms flying everywhere, and she disappears in the pile with a shriek.

Yasha snorts, covering her mouth with her hand, and not managing to hold it together when a single hand sprouts out of the pile, waving in the air.

Yasha grabs it, ready to help Beau to her feet, and not expecting the sudden and strong pull towards the ground.

She is yanked inside the pile of leaves and the only thing she hears is Beau’s laughter and the only thing she feels is Beau’s body shaking in amusement under her own.

Yasha chuckles despite herself, blowing a strand of hair away from her face and rolling to the side.

The pile falls apart around them, and they find themselves with their backs on grass and leaves, staring up at the clouding sky.

The air is crisp, and almost all the trees are naked and ready to welcome snow.

Yasha’s fingers thread through green strands.

“The grass is really soft here.” she says.

Beau turns her head to look at her, pure serenity on her face.

“You appreciate… grass?” she asks.

Yasha nods.

“It’s very different where I’m from. Not a lot of grass.” she says.

Beau nods to herself, moving her arms to shake some more leaves away, and bumping with her hand against Yasha’s.

Yasha doesn’t move. She wonders if Beau is going to take her hand again.

She waits, hoping for something she shouldn’t be hoping for.

But Beau doesn’t. Their fingers almost touch, the back of their hands pressed together.

Yasha hesitates, just for a moment.

She wants so much and she knows she doesn’t deserve it, but she takes it.

She takes that crumb of happiness in that cold afternoon.

Her fingers intertwine with Beau’s, and they lie in silence, staring at the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy the chapter?! Let me know in a comment, I snack on 'em like chips.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... I wrote this while listening to "These Boots Are Made for Walking", French version.  
> I have no idea what the hell happened. LMAO  
> I have updated the tags, and I recommend to check every chapter, please!  
> Well enjoy, and remember to leave a comment!  
> Non-beta'd as usual, because why would I.

Chapter Five

“Hey, kiddo. Do you wanna play?”

The sun is shining in Kamordah. Beau wants to take it as a good sign, but she’s learned to never hope for good signs while she’s staying in this God awful town. But with winter so close, and the number of warm days left that could be counted on one hand, Beau can’t exactly complain.

The train ride here was overall peaceful, and she suspects it will be the same for her journey back to Zadash, so really, a weekend like this one could’ve gone a whole lot worse.

She knows, because it has in the past.

It isn’t always smooth, and if it was up to her, she would not make the physical and mental effort of going back to Kamordah nearly every weekend. But alas, it is not up to her. Not really.

“Kiri.” she calls, and the small child looks up at her briefly, before focusing again on her toys.

“Kiri.” the girl repeats.

Beau takes it as a sign that she’s listening.

“Do you want to play?” she asks again.

Kiri makes a smashing sound as her small hand crushes a plushie unicorn on the ground.

“Want to play!” she repeats, almost ecstatic.

Beau smiles to herself.

She looks to the door, in a semi-automatic gesture, making sure that it’s still locked. She hears no sounds coming from outside, only the pitter-patter of servants on the lower floors.

“Cool. Can I put my hand on your chest, Kiri?” she asks.

Kiri giggles, her focus still on her unicorn.

“Can I put my hand?” the child says.

Beau scooches a little closer, her jeans sliding on the perfectly clean floor. She makes sure that Kiri sees her movements, then places her palm on the little girl’s chest.

“Alright, kid. One.”

If Beau didn’t know any better, she would think that Kiri was completely and utterly absorbed with her own game. But she’s spent months, years, playing this little therapeutic game with Kiri and she knows she just has to be patient.

And sure enough, as Kiri reaches for another doll, her small chest expands and she breathes in.

“Good job, Kiri.” Beau murmurs with a soft smile. “And out. And, two.”

Kiri pensively boops Beau’s hand with her unicorn, then breathes in again, her chest pressing against Beau’s palm. She breathes out.

“Good girl. Three.”

Kiri giggles. She breathes in. And out.

“Four.”

Kiri looks up briefly and nods at her big sister’s antics.

Beau crouches down to Kiri's eye level.

The light is slowly fading outside the window.

The little girl uses the unicorn and smashes its head against the Barbie she's holding. She giggles and crashes the toys together once more.

"I gotta go, kiddo." Beau sighs, watching as Kiri makes unintelligible sounds while she plays.

The girl nods to herself. "I gotta go, kiddo." she echoes, lost in her game.

Beau gently pushes a couple strands of Kiri’s long, dark hair off the girl’s face.

“No, honey.  _ I _ gotta go.  _ You  _ stay here.”

Kiri sits still for a moment, frowning. Then she shakes her head, smashing the unicorn against the Barbie with more force.

“You stay here?” she murmurs, her eyes darting quickly to Beau’s face and then back to her toys.

Beau sighs again, her heart breaking a little.

“I can’t, Kiri. I’m sorry. I’ll be back next week, though, okay? I promise.”

Kiri hums to herself, but continues to play with her toys.

Beau gently places her hand on top of Kiri's, and keeps it there until Kiri looks up for a small second, acknowledging her presence.

"I love you." Beau murmurs, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with her sister.

Kiri nods, repeating "Love you. Love you."

Beau smiles and places a kiss on Kiri's forehead, then stands up and heads to the window. She scans the bedroom, full of pinks and whites, making sure that Kiri is distracted before forcing the window open and hooking one leg on the frame.

Beauregard carefully pulls herself through the window, letting it close behind her without a sound. Grabbing the same tree branch that she used to climb up on arrival, she swings herself down to the ground.

Ducking immediately to prevent anyone noticing her from the main floor windows, she runs quietly across the front lawn. She throws a glance at the driveway, but Thoreau’s car is not there, a clear sign that the Lionetts are still out for their weekend trip.

Beau scoffs to herself, flipping up the hood of her jacket, and scurries away.

From the second floor, nose smushed against her bedroom window, Kiri blinks.

The little girl watches as Beau turns around at the sidewalk, waves, then walks away.

Kiri stands and trots toward her closet, swinging it open. She falls to her knees and crawls inside, scavenging between plushies of every shape and size, until she finds a hoodie that is way too big for her.

With the expert gestures of something that she's done more than once, Kiri puts the blue hoodie on and collects her knees up to her chest.

"Beau." she says to the empty room, nodding and rocking herself, back and forth. "Love you."

Beau leans with her forehead against the window of the train, watching distractedly as the city lights turn into fields of green.

Her phone buzzes once in her pocket. Then again.

She pulls it out to see a text from Fjord.

> **Good weather tomorrow.**
> 
> **Re-match at the center at 4?**

Beau smiles to herself and texts back her confirmation then closes her eyes, trying to drown the rest of the horrible feelings that every visit to Kamordah leaves in her.

***

Yasha stares at the tip of her boots.

She can clearly see a hole in the left one, where the leather has given in. She is very tempted to reach down with one finger and try to feel how big it is, but she knows that if she does, she’ll risk making it even worse.

She ends up putting her hands in the pockets of her jacket, looking up to try and distract herself from the sight.

Not that the environment around her is any better.

Obann’s house is filthy rich. The man himself is filthy rich, although Yasha has heard him say more than once that he’s just wealthy.

But wealthy means having a regular size home with a regular size living room, not a manor with six sitting rooms only on the ground floor.

The couch she’s currently slouched on, waiting for Obann to show up, is easily just as long as she is tall, which is saying something.

Around the room, between rare paintings that Obann has most likely obtained in illegal ways, there are Greek statues and antique vases, to which Yasha doesn’t even want to guess the value of.

And there she is, in her ripped jeans, combat boots with holes in the soles, a washed out tank top and a leather jacket that is most definitely too small for her. Her braided hair is the cleanest thing in her whole persona, but even that shows the signs of low maintenance, right where her roots have grown back out to mesh with her bleached out tips.

She sticks out like a sore thumb.

Not that she cares, anyway.

The majority of the people who walk around that building are either in her same situation or are buddies with Obann.

No one she wants to have any sort of contact or relationship with, anyway.

She throws her head back, looking at the ceiling and frowning at the mosaic that covers it. The majority of those mosaics and paintings have some religious connotation, and she doesn’t understand any of it.

Soft steps coming from the adjacent room make her take a deep breath and stand up.

After a few seconds, one of Obann’s hitmen comes walking through the double doors, one hand on his face to cover an already forming black eye. Whatever he did, Obann must have not been too happy about it.

He glares at Yasha as he walks by, and she glares back.

“Yasha.”

Reluctantly, Yasha drags herself inside the room that Obann is today using as his office, and quietly closes the doors behind her.

She stands awkwardly in front of them, too nervous to make a move before he does.

It’s not the first time that Obann has called her in, although it’s usually to lecture her because of this or that loss.

But Yasha hasn’t lost a match in a very long time.

Well, except for the one with Beau, and she can still remember Obann’s disappointment on her skin. His men would’ve broken her arm if he hadn’t told them to stop, and he’d only done it because she was still needed as a fighter.

“Yasha, my love.”

Obann raises a hand towards her with a smile, inviting her in. He is sitting behind his desk, a cigar in his lips and a stack of money flipping lazily through his fingers.

Yasha takes a couple of steps inside the room, nervously looking around.

But they’re alone, or so it seems, at least.

Yasha doesn’t doubt that his men would be ready to barge in if he only snaps his fingers.

“Take a seat, girl. Don’t stand there like an idiot.”

Yasha obeys, lowering herself to one of the cushioned chairs on the other side of Obann’s desk.

“Are we leaving?” she asks, unable to hold herself.

That is the only other thing she can think of. Usually, after a few months in the same city and after he’s established his dominion over whatever market he’s got his hands in, Obann calls her in to inform her of their next destination. They’ve been in Zadash for almost as long as the other cities, but for once Yasha is not looking forward to leaving.

“Mhm. I can see why you think that, but no. The market here is… Surprisingly lucrative, and you’ve been bringing me good money.” he says, tying the stack of cash and placing it in a nearby suitcase. 

Yasha dares exhaling. If they’re not leaving yet, she still has some time.

Some times with the life she’s built here, with her friend, with…

Obann sits back on his chair, cigar rolling through his fingers.

“But I was made aware of a small detail by some of my… acquaintances.” he says, calmly.

Yasha tenses immediately.

There is more than one thing that goes through her mind, first of all about the possibility that Obann has found out about her second job. If he were to know, he would be able to ask her for more money, and she is desperately trying to save up.

The other, terrifying thought is that he’s found out about… Beau.

“Can you imagine what they might have told me, Yasha?” Obann asks, a sweetness in his voice that Yasha finds nauseating.

She shakes her head.

Obann vaguely gestures to the coffee table in front of one of the couches, just on the side of the room. Yasha sees a rectangular box sitting on top of it, and after stealing a glance at Obann, she stands to go pick it up.

“I was made aware that you look like I just picked you up from the streets.” Obann continues. “Which, although it is not entirely false, also damages my image.”

Yasha opens the box, finding a couple different pairs of shorts, a pair of tank tops and matching sports bras.

She stares at the clothes before closing the box and looking back up at Obann.

“Worry not.” he says, holding her gaze in a way that sends a shiver down Yasha’s spine. “They are the right size.”

Yasha wants to puke.

Better yet, she wants to grab Obann by the back of his head and smash his face against the desk, repeatedly, until his bones break and the blood covers the mahogany, until it drips onto that beautiful, white carpet…

“Do I not deserve a thank you, Yasha?” Obann murmurs, with something in his voice that sounds like a warning.

“Thank you, Obann.” Yasha says, mechanically.

The box feels heavy in her hands.

Obann releases a puff of smoke, before placing the cigar on the ashtray and intertwining his fingers, hands clasping in front of him.

“Do I have to worry about you, my love?” he asks, flatly.

Yasha forces herself to remain still.

“No, Obann.”

“Are you sure?”

Yasha nods very curtly.

“Yes, Obann.”

He raises one eyebrow.

“What about that… Tracy girl?”

Yasha’s heart stops painfully in her chest, and it takes all her strength to not make a single movement. To keep her fear inside.

“Who?” she says, fully aware that she’s a terrible liar, fully aware that Obann could destroy both hers and Beauregard’s life…

“The girl you lost to. I’m sure you remember her. She’s a very… Beautiful woman.”

She knows that he’s just trying to get a rouse out of her. She knows him. Yasha knows that he is a manipulative sack of shit, but she still can’t help the twitching of her lips as she barely suppresses a growl.

She tries to cover it up by nodding her head, looking down at the carpet.

“I remember her. What about her?” she says, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

Anger and disgust bubble up in her stomach, but she clenches her hands on the box and keeps steady.

With her eyes still trained on the floor, she sees Obann’s shadow as he stands and approaches her.

“Is she going to be a distraction, Yasha?”

His voice is close, closer than it was a moment ago, and Yasha forces herself to look up.

“I don’t see why she should be, Obann.”

Obann is not a very tall man. Not as tall as her, at least. But his eyes gleam of hidden threats and ruthlessness, and Yasha has to keep herself from looking away.

Obann studies her for a very long moment, before slowly placing his palm on the back of Yasha’s neck.

“It better not become one.” he says.

Yasha can only nod, not trusting herself enough to speak.

“I own you, Yasha Nydoorin.” he whispers, sweetly, with a knowing, menacing smile stretching his features. His thumb slowly caresses the back of her neck, nails subtly scratching her skin. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Yasha swallows a ball of rage, disgust and fear, then nods again.

Obann's smile fades, as he turns to walk back to his desk.

“Close the doors on your way out.”

Yasha exhales a shaky breath and nods, doing her best not to run from the room.

Once she is out, she makes a sprint for the entrance, bursting through the main doors and stumbling out into the massive front courtyard. Ignoring all Obann’s men, she runs past the gates and onto the sidewalk, hurrying for a full block before stopping dead in her tracks. She drops the box onto the ground, bending down to place her hands on her knees, and breathes in.

It burns, and her chest doesn’t expand nearly enough.

She tries again, squeezing her eyes shut and keeping the tears in. She breathes in, through her nose, and this time she manages to inhale a bit of fresh air.

She blows out through her mouth, and breathes in again.

This time, together with a full breath, the tears escape.

She leans against the wall of the nearby building, lifting her face towards the sky and breathing in, crying silently as people walk by.

It takes her a few minutes to get herself back together, but she finally picks the box up from the sidewalk and starts walking, almost aimlessly, through the streets of Zadash.

She’s walked to Obann’s place instead of using her bike, for the same reason why she doesn’t want him to know that she has a job.

She is scared of what he might ask of her if he finds out she has more income.

Technically, it wouldn’t be that much of a problem. It would reduce the debt she has towards him, for sure.

But at the same time… At the same time, she doesn’t know what he might do.

She doesn’t want to risk him showing up at the circus, meeting her colleagues, meeting Molly.

More than the idea of Molly finding out about her story, she is afraid of what a man like Obann might do to Mollymauk, just because they’re her friend.

She can’t afford that.

Yasha doesn’t know how much Obann has found out about her private life, but she is not willing to risk any of it.

She is very tempted to throw away the box of fighting gear he’s gotten for her -she tries not to think about him knowing her measurements- but she knows she can’t afford to piss him off that way either.

Sighing, Yasha takes the stairs down the path she’s on, deciding to cut through the park to make her way home.

The leaves don’t crunch under her boots anymore, too wet and soggy to dry out like they did before, and Yasha breathes in the cold air of the afternoon, thinking of a date at another park, of laughter and of holding hands.

She is lost in her thoughts, and she barely puts her foot out on time to stop the basketball from shooting past her.

She picks it up, turning around to find its owner.

Yasha’s heart hiccups.

Beauregard slowly lifts her hand, a shy smile spreading on her face, as she looks at her from the other side of the low wall.

Behind her, a group of people is pushing each other around, probably waiting for Beau to come back with the ball.

Yasha is moving towards her before she can even realize what she’s doing.

“Hey.” Beau says, once she’s close enough.

“Hey to you, too.”

She hands Beau the ball, and Beau’s fingers graze hers for a moment too long.

Yasha swallows and chuckles, awkwardly, looking down and moving one of her braids behind her ear.

“It’s, uh. It’s good to see you.” Beau says, lowering her voice.

Yasha nods, briefly looking up to find Beau’s ridiculously blue eyes.

Oh, this _girl_ …

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s good to see you, too.”

Yasha shuffles, nervously, the ghost of her conversation with Obann still hanging over her shoulders.

Beau frowns.

“Is everything okay, Yash?” she asks, genuinely concerned.

Yasha doesn’t know if she’s so upset that it can be read all over her face, or if Beau is just really observant. Maybe a bit of both.

“Yeah, I… Didn’t have a great day, is all.” Yasha murmurs.

Not the actual truth, but not a complete lie either.

Beau nods, and after a moment of hesitation, she reaches out to briefly pat Yasha’s arm.

“I’m sorry, man. Whatever it is.” she says to her, and Yasha smiles.

It’s small, and uncertain, and tired, but it’s honest.

“Thank you, Beau.”

Beau smiles back, just as insecure, but also just as sincere.

“O-of course.” she stammers. “Of course. Are you-?”

“Hey, Beau!” a voice calls from behind the girl, making both of them jump out of their bubble. “Stop flirting with the hot stranger and come back to play!”

Beau flushes so red that Yasha thinks she might burst into actual flames.

She turns around and throws the ball toward the group that Yasha’s noticed earlier. The girl who screamed laughs and easily takes the ball.

Beau turns to look at Yasha, who is trying her best not to smile.

“I, uh, I gotta go but… I’ll see you Wednesday?” she asks, in a tone that Yasha can only define as hopeful.

She nods.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

They both know they couldn’t miss the fight even if they wanted, and Yasha hopes Beau understands that she’s talking about their time together outside the Villa.

Judging by the look on her face, Beau gets it.

“Cool. Cool. Have a good night, Yash.”

Yasha nods again and smiles, turning around to prevent herself from doing something really stupid, and makes her way towards the exit of the park.

Behind her, she hears the noises of a basketball game restarting, together with laughter and playful screams.

She doesn’t look back.

*** 

Beau collapses on the bench, using her basketball tee to wipe the sweat off her chin and upper lip.

The sun has gone down hours ago, but the neon lights surrounding the basketball court are so bright that it could very well be still noon.

“I’m so out of shape.” Fjord groans, his forehead pressed against the hard wood of the table.

Jester pats him lovingly on the back, too focused on whatever TikTok has appeared on her phone.

Caleb barely looks up from his book, and Caduceus takes a swig of his water and throws his head back to try and look at the sky.

“So, I was thinking…” Beau starts, snatching the water bottle off of Cad’s hand.

“Now, that’s dangerous.” Caleb interjects without even looking up.

Beau smacks him on the back of the head, earning herself a glare.

“I was thinking about Christmas.”

Fjord grunts, and Caleb keeps on ignoring her, but Jester and Caduceus immediately focus on her.

Jester’s eyes are already gleaming of anticipation.

“Oh. My gods. Beau, we’re sooooo close to Christmas!”

“It’s a month away.” Fjord mutters, but his complaint goes completely lost.

Beau scratches a chip of wood off the table, decidedly staring at that instead of her friends when she says: “I thought maybe we could celebrate it at mine, this year.”

There is a long, stretched out moment of silence.

When she finds the courage to look up, she finds that Caleb has put down his book, and Fjord has propped himself up on his elbow. They’re all staring at her.

“Really?” Jester asks.

It’s almost comical, the way she is trying to keep her excitement at bay, together with the how the doubt and the uncertainty color her features.

Beau feels a sharp sense of guilt at that, fully aware that the only reason why her friends don’t trust her is because she’s never really given them a reason to.

“Yeah.” she says, slowly. She’s thought about it for a long time. Spending time with Yasha, opening herself up little by little and telling the other girl about her friends has made her realize how much of her life really revolves around them, and how much more she wants them to be in her life.

She doesn’t want to lose them.

“I know I haven’t been really open with you guys, but… I wanna. And like. I wanna try to be a bit better.”

Caleb and Fjord exchange a not super subtle look, and Caduceus hums.

“You know we’re okay with whatever, Beau.” Cad says, calmly. “You are not a trusting person, and we have always just waited for you to come around.”

Beau laughs, feeling awkward as hell, scratching the back of her undercut.

“Yeah, I- I know. It’s just…”

She sighs, looking up at every one of her friends, partially sad that Veth and Molly are not there for this conversation, but also grateful that she doesn’t have two more sets of eyes to watch her every move.

“I’ve been very scared of losing all of you and… You know. I figured that maybe, if I kept you at distance, it wouldn’t have hurt so much when you woulda walked away.”

Jester tentatively reaches out to grab Beau’s hand. Beau lets her, intertwining their fingers.

“But we won’t, Beau.” Jester says, looking almost confused. “We won’t ever walk away from you.”

Beau laughs again, feeling a horrible scratch at the back of her throat.

“You haven’t so far.” she concedes. “Which is shocking in and on itself.”

Her friends all glance at each other, and Beau knows she is the one shocking them, with this honest and open conversation.

“Beauregard.”

Beau looks up at Caleb, who’s staring down at her with nothing but hard affection.

“We would never walk away from you. I might not be good with words, and we might have had a rough start, you and I…” they both chuckle at the understatement of the century. “But you are my friend. Our friend. We don’t leave anyone behind.”

Beau smiles and coughs out a wet laugh. She has no intention of crying in front of them, but she also needs to steer the conversation away if she doesn’t want to end up in a sobbing mess.

Luckily, Fjord claps his hands in front of him.

“Well, I don’t know about you all, but I look forward to finally seeing Beau’s apartment.” he exclaims.

Beau looks gratefully at him and he winks.

“All in for Christmas at Beau’s, then?” Fjord asks, looking around.

Caduceus smiles, happily, and nods. Caleb murmurs “ _Ja_.” before picking his book back up, obstinately choosing to not make a big deal out of the situation.

Jester, on a completely different track from everyone else, releases an excited scream, gets up, and rounds the table.

Beau finds herself tackled onto the grass before anyone has the chance to stop one Jester Lavorre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you think!  
> Is it Thursday yet?


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, apologies for the ridiculous delay in posting. Working in healthcare is no fun right now, and if we add the immigration chaos... but alas it is here, so enjoy! I'll go back and finish writing the next chapter.

Chapter Six

They end up fighting each other again.

It’s unavoidable, and they have somehow managed to not make it happen by keeping themselves at the head of their section. But once the second round of fights start, it’s only a matter of weeks before they’re forced to face the reality of things.

Beau is waiting for her outside, hands shoved in the pockets of her windbreaker and a dark expression on her face. She moves from the wall when she sees her, and attempts a sour excuse of a smile.

They start walking in silence, hands in their own pockets and heads low.

They don’t talk much, limiting themselves to small sounds and weak “How are you”s.

Yasha leads them back to the park, the same park where they’ve lied amongst the browning leaves. The trees are all bare, and even the ground is clear of any memory of fall. Winter is well ahead its usual time, and the air is crisp and cold.

They wander around the emptying park, and Beau lets herself fall onto one of the swings. The kids are already gone, hurrying home for supper, and there is almost nobody to be seen around.

Yasha hesitates for just a moment. 

It seems that every time she allows herself to get closer to Beau, her life turns in the most unexpected ways.

Finally, she sits on the nearby swing, kicking the dirt and releasing a heavy breath. The swings creak and moan, but they both start swaying gently.

“I can see you’re as excited about this as I am.” Beau’s attempt at a joke goes awkwardly flat, and Yasha doesn’t look up.

She doesn’t know how to handle things.

It’s been, quite possibly, the only good thing that was ever part of being a slave of Obann… The fact that she never had to worry about dealing with problems.

Of course, this had just meant that her life was so empty, void and repetitive that she never really had found herself in problematic situations.

But this is something entirely new, something she has no idea how to handle.

She can’t possibly lose this fight. The talk with Obann is still very fresh in her memory, and she can’t let herself slip. She can’t make a single mistake, especially whenever Beau is concerned.

At the same time, winning would mean fighting Beau at the best of her abilities, and eventually hurting her. Physically, and possibly emotionally.

Yasha is not ready for that.

Worst part is, she can’t avoid going into this, and she needs to let Beau know that she can’t back down. She needs for Beau to know that whatever is going to happen tonight changes nothing about the way Yasha feels for-

No. She can’t allow herself to think about _those_ problems as well.

She takes a deep breath and then…

“Yash, listen…”

***

“Beau-”

They both stop, eyes meeting through the chains of the swings, and Beau swears she sees the ghost of a small smile.

It’s more than she ever hoped for, and she waves her hand at Yasha.

“No, sorry. Go ahead.”

Yasha sighs again, turning to stare at her boots. She kicks the dirt again and clears her throat.

“I can’t lose tonight.” she finally says, and her shoulders sag.

Beau notices her choice of words. Yasha didn’t straight up say that she doesn’t _want_ to lose, nor that she _wants_ to win. Beau is anything if not observant and detail oriented, and she’s long realized that the way Yasha formulates her sentences often holds more meaning than the words themselves.

She knows there is something that Yasha isn’t telling her, and she has a vague idea of what it is. Still, she doesn’t ask.

She simply nods, pushing herself backwards and starting to swing full force.

“Okay.”

Yasha startles, looking up at her.

“Okay?” she echoes.

Beau nods, almost happily. It makes things easy, at least, to know that Yasha really is just as thrilled as her about the coming fight.

“I mean, I wish you’d told me like, a week ago, ‘cause it woulda given us more time to practice, but we still have a few hours.”

Beau slows down when she sees the uttermost confusion on Yasha’s face.

“What… What are you talking about?”

Her sneakers drag through the dirt, and Beau comes to a full stop.

She wants to help Yasha. She’s not exactly sure what the full story is, but she wants to help her. Losing tonight doesn’t cost anything more than the money to Beau; to Yasha, it might be a different story entirely, and Beau has seen way too many.

She’s not gonna let that happen to Yasha.

But in order to do so, she has to explain. And explaining means tip toeing a very fine line.

“I’m talking about staging a fight, Yash.” Beau says. In the darkening afternoon, Yasha looks even paler. “It’s not the first time I’ve done it, and it’s probably not going to be the last one either.”

Yasha stares at her. She still looks incredibly confused, but Beau can see that she is also interested and possibly already on board with her plan.

Beau doesn’t know what she’s done to earn this woman’s trust, but she’s not willing to betray it.

“But… How?” Yasha asks, cautiously. “Won’t they notice?”

Beau shrugs.

“The referee doesn’t care, he’s paid by the hour. The audience is too manic to realize what’s happening, usually, but in order to sell it you’ll still have to hit me.”

Yasha grimaces, and Beau can tell she doesn’t like the idea.

It makes two of them.

“How many times have you done it?” Yasha asks again.

“Countless.” Beau answers, earnestly. “Once I got into the Fight Club for the first time, not many people were willing to bet on me. I was the scrawny new kid. So I talked to my opponents. For the majority, they are in the club for money, and very little of them are in for fun. I just had to figure out which ones were which.  
When I did, I made deals. For the first few months, I staged fights and agreed to lose them. They’d bet on themselves and win both the bet money and the cash prize. I placed bets on them too and brought home some cash. It was a win-win situation.

All I needed was to get myself known in the circle, figure out who the other fighters were and how they fought. After a few months, I knew everything there was to know, and I started dominating my circle. That’s why it was so easy for me to get to Main Circle.”

Beau ducks her head with a small laugh, she shrugs and laughs again.

“Guess you didn’t need to know my life story but… Yeah. I’ve done it before.”

“I don’t need to know anything that you don’t want to share…” Yasha murmurs. “But I am always happy to hear what you have to say.”

Beau looks up, just in time to catch Yasha averting her gaze. She doesn’t do anything to hide her blush, though, and Beau’s head spins just a little.

The idea that this beautiful, mysterious girl could feel or think something that makes her blush in front of her is something absolutely inconceivable.

“Right.” she breathes out.

Yasha chuckles.

“Right…”

For a moment, they don’t say a word. Yasha is smiling, softly, staring blankly at the ground, and Beau simply can’t take her eyes off of her.

Finally, she shakes herself out of it and stands up.

“Let’s get to work then. We have a few hours to practice a solid, believable fight.”

She offers Yasha a hand, and when Yasha takes it, her heart skips a beat.

***

As they step through the doors of the locker room, silence falls again between them.

It’s just so slightly different, this time around. It’s less awkward and more focused, and Yasha knows that Beau is repeating in her mind the movements and the steps, just like she is doing on her own.

Beau’s mind is brilliant and resourceful.

It’s nothing that Yasha didn’t already know, but it makes her feelings for this woman grow and her guilt enflate.

Pursuing those feelings would not only mud her commitment to Zuala, but also endanger Beau drastically.

Yasha can’t shake off the look in Obann’s eyes when he’d mentioned her.

As she unzips her bag, she winces at the sight of her new fighting gear.

She slowly undresses herself, trying to drag it out, desperately trying to find a way to get out of wearing those clothes. She’s had to fight in those garments already, and they’re actually quite comfortable. But the thought of Obann purchasing them, knowing precisely her measurements, makes her skin itch.

Once ready, she turns to look at Beau.

Beau, who’s sitting cross legged on one of the benches, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape, breathing in and out with purpose and control.

Yasha can’t help but stare.

Everything about Beauregard draws her in.

Her lips, hair, skin. Her muscles, from the ones on her arms to -Gods help her- the abs on her stomach.

Even the way she’s breathing now, the way such an energetic, chaotic person like Beauregard can bring herself to a moment of stillness, of absolute immobility.

Just by watching Beauregard breathe, Yasha feels like time has slowed down.

Then Beau cracks one eye open and grins.

“See something you like?”

Yasha snorts, turning around to cover a growing blush.

“Yeah, maybe.” she says, and it’s supposed to sound flirty, but heavens know Yasha can’t flirt for crap. It comes out incredibly flat and monotone instead.

For whatever reason, that doesn’t discourage Beau.

As they both stretch out their muscles and the crowd outside goes apeshit for whatever fight is on, Beau points at her.

“You know… Those are really neat.”

Yasha looks down at herself, then back up at Beau.

“The bra and the shorts. Your gear.” Beau specifies.

Yasha shrugs, helplessly. How can she explain that yes, they’re _neat_ , but they’re also the worst gift she’s received in years.

“I prefer your old stuff anyway.”

Yasha looks up. Beau is not looking at her. She’s finishing to put her stuff back in her locker.

“You do?” Yasha hates how desperate she sounds, and she clears her throat. “Why?”

“Eh.” Beau shrugs, turning to get to the door. “It almost looks like you can’t breathe, in those. Not… Not physically.”

She looks up briefly at Yasha, hand on the handle.

“You looked more comfortable in your old stuff. And that’s how I like to see you. Feeling comfortable and safe.”

Beau slips out the door, letting it close behind her with a soft _click_.

Yasha leans back against the cold lockers. Her mind swirls and spins, and she doesn’t know _how_ , but she has the feeling that Beau knows more about her than she does about herself.

The crazy thing is, Yasha doesn’t mind one bit.

Beau clocks her square in the face and the crowd goes nuts. It’s all staged, and Yasha fully expected that blow, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

She looks up, massaging her jaw to ease the throb, and meets Beau’s eyes. Beau is waiting for her next move.

Yasha steps forward, puts her weight on her left foot and uses her whole body to drop a front kick to Beau’s stomach.

Beauregard falls backwards with a loud grunt, her back hitting the floor, and it is so believable that Yasha herself would think it true, if she didn’t know any better.

But as it is, her foot had barely touched Beau’s skin.

She marches forward, just as Beau kip-ups to stand. Her fake hook goes intentionally wide, but it brings the two of them close enough for a moment.

“Show off.” Yasha murmurs, barely suppressing a smile.

Beau’s uppercuts are light on her locked forearms, but the crowd goes apeshit. Even then, it’s not enough to cover Beau’s cackle from her.

They spring apart, breathing heavily, and for once, that’s not faked.

Yasha would not have imagined that a staged fight could be as exhausting as a real one. Suddenly, she understands why professional wrestlers train and spar all the time.

They circle around the cage, almost like they’re trying to study their opponent’s intentions.

Yasha waits, careful to catch the exact moment when Beau makes her move. Beauregard is limping and breathing heavily, and Yasha doesn’t exactly know where the lie ends and the truth begins. She just has to trust that Beau knows what she’s doing, but she can’t help but worry for the other woman.

Either way, she doesn’t have to wait long.

Beau takes half a step forward, and Yasha knows what to do. Just as Beau approaches, Yasha ducks, palms on the floor, propelling herself laterally just enough to sweep the leg. Her ankle meets Beau’s and the girl slams on the ground with a loud groan.

For a terrible, panicked moment, Yasha stands, looking down at Beau and worrying that she might have hurt her for real, but Beau rolls onto her back, eyes closed, one arm slung across her stomach and the other on the ground, tapping out. On her face, the smallest of smiles.

Yasha is deaf to the audience’s screams, to her name being chanted for her victory, as she looks down at this incredible girl who still feels like a mystery to her.

Yasha collects the envelope from the referee and nods her gratitude to the members of the audience who are trying to get a word in with her. It happens every night, and Yasha is strangely used to the slew of fans who want to try and talk to her. It’s something ridiculous, and she does not know what these people might want to talk to her about, but tonight more than ever she does not have the patience to respond.

She pushes through the crowd, envelope full of money clutched in her fist, and she hurries for the locker room.

***

Beau presses the ice pack against her shoulder, inhaling slowly. Staged or not, she still took a hell of a beating from the falls she has had to fake.

Her right shoulder is throbbing, the point where she fell onto it sending waves of sharp pain through her neck and spine. She will be fine, and she knows it’s just the bruise of the impact, but it doesn’t make recovery any more pleasant.

She taps with her foot against the bench, inhaling once more and looking up at the door as it swings open.

Yasha, sweaty and just so slightly flustered, closes the door and points her thumb to it, alluding to where she just came from.

“They believed it.” she says, and she sounds absolutely stunned.

Beau grins, slapping the ice pack on the bench and standing up, stretching her shoulder lightly.

“Yeah.” she laughs. “Yeah, well, I told you it wasn’t my first rodeo.”

Yasha’s surprise leaves room to a sudden, unbridled joy, and Beau can’t help but laugh louder, and nod with no little satisfaction.

“I mean, I wouldn’t see why they wouldn’t. We did put up a great show, and what you did with that sweep was simply a-”

Yasha kisses her.

She grabs her by the waist and kisses her so suddenly that Beau releases a surprised, happy little sound.

Shoulder be damned, Beau swings both her arms around Yasha’s neck, and their bodies press together, stumbling ever so slightly.

Yasha’s tongue is gentle as it slithers through her lips, and the way Yasha kisses her makes Beau’s knees tremble.

Yasha’s fingers splay on the small of her back, caressing her spine in an upward-downward slow motion. Beau tilts her head, capturing Yasha’s lower lips between hers and sucking on it almost lazily.

Yasha hums at that, and Beau’s heart hiccups. There is something, right there. There is something that she can’t name and she is not sure that she wants to name.

But her body arches against Yasha’s hold, it awakes under Yasha’s touch.

Beau’s fingers slip gently between the other woman’s braids, and she almost doesn’t recognize her voice when she murmurs “Yash…”

That breaks the spell.

Whatever fucking spell was it, anyway, that had taken over Yasha and pushed her towards her, breaks just as her name leaves her lips.

Yasha steps away, almost like she’s just burned herself, and blinks rapidly in her direction.

Beau’s heart falls flat against her stomach, but Yasha doesn’t seem regretful, or angry. Just… Confused. Very confused and very much in pain.

Beau clears her throat, Yasha’s taste still on her lips, and attempts to take a step towards her, when the door swings open again and a man walks in.

Beauregard Lionett doesn’t hate easily. She dislikes people, and she dislikes many of the ones she encounters, but hate is a word she reserves for specific individuals.

She doesn’t know who this man is, but it takes one look at his face and his all-knowing eyes to spark a flame of pure hatred towards him.

“Well, good evening.” tha man says, and his sly, viscid grin moves from Yasha and settles onto Beau. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

The way he says it, it almost sounds like he wishes he'd walked in on something more interesting.

If only a minute ago Beau was regretting ever speaking up, now she is grateful she’s accidentally broken the kiss between her and Yasha. She doesn’t know the man, nor his relationship with Yasha, but she knows whatever is between the two of them is something this person should never find out.

“I was congratulating Yasha about the fight.” Beau says before Yasha can respond. Not only does she know that the other woman is an awful liar, but she also has the feeling that Yasha is too in shock to be able to speak.

The man raises one eyebrow in Beau’s direction, and she holds his gaze.

Now _that_ is something she knows very well how to do.

Whoever this guy is, and Beau already has an idea or two, he is cut from the same cloth another man in Beau’s life is cut from. And boy, Beau has spent her entire life defying the judgemental gazes of men such as her father.

“You must be… Tracy, am I correct?” the man asks, swinging his white scarf on his left arm, where he is still clutching a very ostentatious looking walking cane, and extending his right hand to her.

Beau doesn’t blink. She simply grabs his hand with hers and squeezes it with force.

They stare at each other for one long, eternal moment.

“Nice to meet you.” Beau says, and means none of it.

The man smiles a hateful, insincere smile. His eyes roam down Beau’s body, still outfitted in fighting gear, and his smile turns into a lavish grin.

Even fully expecting it, Beau feels nauseous and rageful, and it takes all of her willpower not to smash her head against his nose.

With the corner of her eye, she sees Yasha, frozen on the spot, fists clutched at her sides and her face paler than Beau has ever seen it. It’s all she needs to draft her conclusions on the man, and it’s all she needs not to break this guy’s face right this second.

She smiles at him, and takes her hand back.

The horrible man keeps studying her as she collects her bag, her ice pack and her shoes, and she leaves the locker room without looking back.

***

Yasha sticks her face under the shower and tries to drown everything around her with little to no success. The stream of water turns cold almost immediately, but she doesn’t care. She deserves it.

She deserves way worse than that.

Her carelessness has put Beau in danger, in more ways than one.

Obann was never supposed to get this close to her. Never.

But she’d been so eager to find Beau after the fight that she’d forgotten to go pay the man, making him think she’d left with his money.

His slap across the face still stings, but Yasha doesn’t even care.

Beauregard was never supposed to meet Obann, or know Obann even existed, and Obann was never supposed to have a chance to study her. Yasha’s stupidity has put Beau in tremendous risk. Yasha suspects that even Beau knows it.

The way Beau’s left the locker rooms, without looking back, without saying a word, makes her realize that whatever there was between them had been a thing of the past.

Maybe it’s for the better.

Beau should have not had to deal with all that.

Yasha closes her eyes.

And what the fuck was that kiss anyway? What the fuck had she been thinking?

For a glorious, spectacular moment, Yasha had forgotten about everything in her life that wasn’t Beauregard, and that was something that she couldn’t afford to let herself experience.

She’d already betrayed Zuala’s memory by sleeping with another woman, and now she was betraying her once again by catching feelings?

Yasha remembers the feelings of Beau’s lips, and her sobs are drowned out by the cold stream of the shower.

When she leaves the Villa, it’s way later than any other time she’s started walking home. She doesn’t know how long she’s remained in the locker room, and that only adds to the list of things she’s regretting about tonight.

The air is tremendously cold, way too cold for her leather jacket, and the night is lightly colored by the first fall of snow.

The parking lot is almost empty, save for a couple of Lamborghini, with a group of friends hanging around them and passing a cigar around, and a truck that has seen better days.

Just as she’s walking by the cars, the truck sputters and roars to life, and a door opens and closes with a _thump_.

Yasha has no intention of dealing with another fan, tonight, and speeds up.

“Yash, wai-hold up!”

She stops dead in her tracks and turns around.

“...Wha- What are _you_ doing here?”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Please double check the tags, as they have been updated, and beware this character could contain all of the worst ones mentioned.  
> It was not an easy chapter to write, and I wouldn't expect it to be an easy one to read.  
> Also please know I have basic psychology and social assistance training, but I'm in no way a professional.  
> Majorly un-beta'd.

_“...Wha- What are_ you _doing here?”_

Chapter Seven

Beau grins, shoving her half frozen fingers deep in the pockets of her jeans. She shrugs, and she is pleased to notice that her shoulder is already not hurting that much anymore.

“Oh, y’know. I do fight here, once in a while. Terrible place, really.” she says to an uttermost shocked Yasha. “Chick I fought tonight absolutely destroyed me. She’s hot though, so that’s okay.”

That, incredibly enough, coaxes a flustered smile out of Yasha, before the woman frowns again.

“I- No, I mean. It’s late. What are you…?”

It’s clear that Yasha doesn’t really know how to finish her question without repeating herself, so Beau comes to her help. 

“I didn’t like how I left you with that guy, and I wanted to make sure you got home okay.” she admits. “I have a car, and I was thinking maybe I could drive you home if, if you wanted. Or not! Whatever you want.”

Yasha blinks at her, mouth slightly agape, then at the truck behind her.

“You- You have a car?”

Beau shakes her head.

“It’s my friend Fjord’s. Him and Caduceus own a little store on Main Street, and they need the truck for deliveries. But Fjord is out of town with Jester to go meet Jes’ mom, and Duceus is spending the weekend with his sister. They lent me the truck in exchange for the promise of me watering their plants.”

Beau scratches the back of her neck and releases a nervous laugh. Yasha is not saying a word, and the more she looks at her, the more wired Beau gets.

“Let’s be honest, they’re going to be all dead by Monday, but they knew I suck at this when they offered.”

Beau finally shuts her mouth, shuffling from one foot to the other and clearing her voice.

Yasha blinks a couple times before looking down at her boots, and Beau panics.

“Look,” she says, frantically trying to fill the awkward silence. “You can see your breath.”

And points at the puff of condensed air coming out of her mouth.

It is the most embarrassing thing she’s ever said or done, and goddamn it, it works.

For whatever fucking reason, Yasha chuckles at that, and looks up at her with the shadow of a smile.

“You really waited for me?” she asks.

_ Duh _ , Beau wants to answer.  _ Of course I did _ .

“Yeah. Sure. It’s whatever.”

They get in the pick up truck and Beau immediately cranks up the heat.

The truck moans and shakes, coming to life with no little effort, but finally it sputters out a significant amount of warm air. Yasha immediately puts her fingers in front of the air vent, and Beau hides a smile as she puts the truck in drive and takes them out of the parking lot of the Villa.

They get to the main road before she realizes she has absolutely no idea where she’s supposed to go.

“Uhm. Where do you live?”

Yasha looks up at her, almost surprised by the question, then turns toward the passenger window. She seems to consider the question for a long moment, before she meekly says: “I don’t feel like going home just yet.”

Beau nods, and turns left.

“I know a place, then.”

***

Beau says “I know a place.” and she usually takes her to a beautiful park, or an ancient building, or a new cafe.

Yasha never knows where Beau is about to take her and she doesn’t care.

She loves the thrill of adventure and once again, she silences the voice at the back of her head that tells her that all this is a bad idea.

Because Beau says “I know a place” like she doesn’t know that all Yasha wants is Beauregard herself.

***

They drive in silence for half an hour, with Yasha playing with the radio like it’s one of the most wondrous pieces of technology she’s ever seen in her life.

Beau tries her best not to stare, but the smile that tugs at her lips and at the heartstrings of her heart is very hard to keep at bay.

Beau taps with her fingers on the steering wheel once Yasha finally settles on a song, and snorts loudly when Yasha decides that she prefers to listen to something else entirely and starts fidgeting with the buttons again.

They leave the lights of the city behind them and it’s only then that Yasha starts looking at something that isn’t the radio system. Her eyes squint in the darkness, trying to adjust, as Beau drives confidently through the fields, leaving the main road in favor of a rougher terrain. The pick up creaks and sputters, but it doesn’t seem to mind the change of path.

Yasha doesn’t ask and Beau doesn’t explain, but finally, she halts the truck to a stop and turns the engine off.

The most absolute silence falls around them. Yasha turns to look at her and Beau gestures for her to follow. She opens the door and hops down on the half frozen grass. She moves to the back of the truck and unclips the tarp covering the bed of the pick up, and she notices Yasha doing the same on the other side. They roll up the tarp to the very end.

“You can just let it drop inside. Yeah.”

Yasha keeps looking at her with curiosity that is very evident even in the darkness, but Beau grins. She hoists herself up with one foot on the back tire and crawls inside the bed of the truck.

As Yasha moves to do the same, a bit tentative and insecure, Beau rummages through different bags and finds a couple blankets.

“Did you have this prepared?” Yasha muses, and Beau doesn’t need to look up at her to know that Yasha is teasing her.

“I figured we could, yenno, do this either way. I wasn’t sure how our fight was gonna go, so I thought about doing something a bit special to lift our spirits. Or something.”

Beau clears her voice once more, suddenly unsure about her idea. She probably should’ve asked Yasha beforehand if that was something she might’ve wanted, instead of driving them out of town, in the middle of nowhere, to hang out.

Her confidence starts to deflate as her anxiety rises, when Yasha suddenly hoists herself up on the other side of the truck, making it tilt slightly under her weight, before slinging a leg on the bedside and crawling inside.

Beau pats the cold, metallic panel of the bedfloor, which is surprisingly clean, and Yasha quietly sits down next to her; Beau passes her one of the blankets, and Yasha awkwardly shuffles around with it before finally settling with her back to the rear panel and window of the pick up.

Finally, after Yasha turns to look at her once more with a questioning look, Beau points her finger towards the sky.

They both look up at once, and Beau can’t help but smile as Yasha audibly gasps.

The night sky is cloudless, clear and magnificent. The stars above them shine, far away and yet so big, so close, so bright.

Catha is near the end of her cycle, a gentle giant that shines a soft light onto the farmland and the woods at the edge of it. The largest sister of the two moons is the main source of light on any regular night, but tonight she’s what makes possible the sight of the farmfield and the faraway skyline of Zadash, together with the beauty of her nearby stars.

Ruidus, on the other hand, shines with her reddish-purple, maroon-brown color, contributing with a slight dimmer glow. Being at the very start of her own cycle for this emisphere, the smaller moon rolls lazily in the sky, about to disappear behind the imposing mountains of western Wildemount.

Yasha releases another sound, a choked up incredulous laugh, as her shaking hand points at the smaller moon.

“I never saw Ruidus in full winter.” she says, full of awe.

“No?” murmurs Beau, completely enraptured by the wonder on Yasha’s face.

Yasha shakes her head, her eyes brimming of joy as she scouts the night sky.

“No. It was hard to see the sky either way, in Xhorhas. The smoke and the fog from pollution and bombs… They clouded the sky too much. But on clear nights of summer… Oh, Beauregard. You should have seen them. Both moons would shine down during the celebrations of Midsommer, and the war seemed to halt for just one moment, to let us enjoy the stars.”

Beau’s breath catches in her throat.

She’s had hints to the fact that Yasha had been from Xhorhas -the accent, her way of moving around in the world, stories that she’d told- but this is the first time that Yasha has spoken clearly about witnessing the war.

“It makes sense, though.” Beau manages to say after a moment. “Ruidus will remain for our winter, so that she can cycle back to Xhorhas in time for your summer.”

Yasha simply chuckles, still full of wonder, and leans slightly against Beau’s shoulder as she points at a cluster of stars.

“The stars are all out of order, here.” she says, her voice suddenly a whisper. “That one? It’s usually all the way there.”

Beau follows where Yasha is pointing, in a completely different spot in the sky.

“That’s fucking crazy.” Beau says with a laugh, before she can help herself. “That we grew up under such a different sky.”

Yasha turns to look at her with a smile, chuckles to herself and then leans back against the rear panel of the truck, lowering her hands on her lap.

“It’s always been the same sky. Just under different perspectives.” she finally says, and she sounds content, almost at peace.

Beau smiles again, watching the beautiful lines of Yasha’s face.

Whatever had happened in that locker room, almost two hours ago, had been amazing.

But if all she will get from Yasha are random kisses and the occasional fuck against a dirty locker, then she will take what Yasha has to offer without complaining.

Because this? This sight that Beau is witnessing now, that is something she is not willing to gamble on.

She bites her lip and settles with her back against the rear panel as well, and they both go back to looking at the sky.

When the pain in her shoulder starts throbbing more than is actually comfortable, Beau digs her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

Yasha is peacefully humming next to her, and she gently bumps her with her elbow.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Beau asks, presenting a joint out of her pocket.

Yasha shakes her head no, and Beau goes back to rummage in her pockets for a lighter.

She inhales the first few puffs in complete silence, then offers the joint to Yasha.

“Want some?”

Yasha stares at the burning joint for a long moment.

“Indica or sativa?” she asks.

Beau, fully expecting Yasha to straight up decline, almost chokes on the last inhale.

“Hybrid, actually.” she responds, trying to hide her surprise.

Yasha smiles, and shakes her head again. “Then no, thank you.”

Beau nods and brings the joint to her lips again.

“You know your drugs.” she jokes, chest tight as she keeps the smoke inside as much as possible.

Yasha’s smile tilts, and her eyes meet Beau’s with a seriousness that Beau has never seen before.

“All too well, I’m afraid.”

Beau’s lips part, releasing the huff of smoke into the cold air, and immediately moves the joint to her other hand, the one further away from Yasha, before swallowing a sudden rush of bile.

“Shit. Sorry.” she stammers, not exactly knowing how to handle the newfound knowledge. “I-I didn’t-”

But Yasha chuckles.

It’s dry, and full of regret, but she doesn’t seem angry. Not with Beau, at least.

“It’s okay. You couldn’t know.”

Their eyes meet, and Beau sees pain. A lot of it. And all she wants is to take it all away.

“Do you want to hear my story, Beauregard?” Yasha asks

Beau wants to say no, that there’s no need, that Yasha can go back to the sky. She doesn’t want to awake painful memories, but something in Yasha’s eyes tells her that those memories might be always, constantly awake.

“Only if you feel like telling it.” she ends up whispering.

Yasha nods, and for a moment, there’s only silence.

Only a calm, perfect silence. The moment of stillness that precedes disaster. The quiet before the storm.

“I grew up in the war.” Yasha begins. “That much I made clear. I don’t remember any family, although it must’ve been there, at some point. But it’s okay, and I was okay, and I am okay now, because the Empire took a bunch of kids from the warzone and landed them here, in Empire territories. I bet they thought they were doing a good thing. In a way, they did. But back home I didn’t have to worry about having the right documents, or the right look, or the right job. Every day was about surviving, and finding something to eat or somewhere to sleep. Once I made it to the Empire, everything started getting more and more complicated. They gave us temporary documents, a ghost of an ID, and then they left us to fend for ourselves. I started shelter hopping, going from one shelter to another and trying every city, hoping that the next one would be better.”

Yasha’s quiet tone is serene, almost like describing that part of her past is as easy and normal as she might describe a run to the grocery store.

But it’s right there and then that her voice drops, and Yasha’s whole body inflates.

“I met Zuala at one of those shelters. Trying to survive just like me.”

Yasha looks up at the sky, and Beau feels cold in her heart, because wherever this story goes, she doubts there is a happy ending to it.

“I loved her from the moment I saw her.” Yasha whispers, her gaze on the stars and her heart further away than that. “And she loved me just the same.”

Beau puts out the joint on the bedfloor of the truck, leaning with her head against the window and focusing her eyes on Yasha. There is warmth and longing and pain in Yasha’s voice.

“We were very young, very alone, and very happy. Zuala was… Much more charismatic than I am or ever will be. We got by, you know? We were used to nothing, and we didn’t need much.”

Beau thinks back of the opulency she grew up in, of what her father had always considered as essential, and she wants to throw up. But it’s not her moment, it’s not her story, so she keeps quiet, and listens.

“Zuala fell ill one day. Her health was never the best, but this took us by surprise. Her body started to become weaker and weaker, and her mind was often very tired.”

Yasha laughs, and it’s a wet, pained laugh.

“She was always so positive, though. I was scared while healthy, and she was optimistic while dying.”

Yasha shakes her head, and her next words are coated in anger.

“The Empire never thinks things through, really. They thought they saved us, taking us away from a world with a war, and they dropped us in one where we didn’t have a suitable education, a proper job, nor the right documents. Healthcare was a luxury for the rich and the documented, not for immigrants, and her medicine was so very expensive.”

Yasha’s hands close into fists on her lap, and Beau stares at them, she stares at the bruised knuckles as they whiten.

“Cancer is brutal already, but the worst part is that you never know when it’s going to fully overtake you. I tried my best to provide Zuala with the medicines, but… Opioids were the only thing that worked to help ease the pain and cure her illness, but prescribed opioids are so expensive. We found out there were other drugs that could help, and those drugs… They’re not easy to come by either, nor are they legal. But did you know that heroin costs half as much as prescribed opioids?”

Yasha shrugs. Maybe because they are both deep in an illegal fight ring, or because she really does trust her, but Beau gets the sense that Yasha doesn’t really mind about her knowing all this dangerous information.

“That’s how I met Obann.”

Beau doesn’t need an explanation. The way Yasha’s body goes rigid, the way her fist close to an even more painful clench, the way she spits out his name with hatred, and disgust, and fear… All of it makes Beau understand who Obann is, and she now really wishes she’d broken his nose in that locker room, a couple of hours ago.

“He is in… I don’t even know how many different criminal organizations, at this point. I didn’t know the extent of it, at the time, he was just a drug boss in my eyes. So I started working for him. He provided us with a car, and with a discount on the drugs, as long as I could make a bunch of deliveries for him.   
Zuala got better, and that was all I cared about.”

Yasha sighs. Her fists unclench, and she splays her palms on the blanket.

“It lasted for a few months. I was doing pretty well, working my way through odd jobs here and there to keep up with Obann’s errands. I knew I was raking up a debt with him, but I didn’t care, as long as I could provide Zuala with what she needed.”

Yasha shrugs.

“I started using, too. It was light stuff, at first. But Obann wasn’t in the circle because he dealt low quality drugs. And when Zuala’s health suddenly declined…”

Yasha pauses.

For the first time since she’s started talking, Yasha stops, and takes a deep breath.

Then another.

And another.

It’s a few minutes before she can gather herself again enough to continue. Beau’s heart is stuck in her throat, and she can’t seem to make a single movement.

“Her heart stopped in the middle of one of my errands. I threw everything to the wind. Put her in the car and drove her to the hospital. They wouldn’t even look at her, without a care card. There had been a huge fire downtown, and the ER was full with those victims. A silly immigrant girl who was dying of cancer in the arms of another silly immigrant girl who looked like she’d been shooting up right before coming in? They didn’t even bother taking our names down.”

Yasha’s voice quivers, shakes, but doesn’t break.

“They took her body, though. They had to, at least. I walked out, got in the car, shot a massive dose up my veins and started driving. I had a cooker in my glove compartment, that’s how bad it had gotten…

I crashed the car in less than ten minutes, of course, together with all of Obann’s stash. Gasoline and debris doesn’t mix well with drugs. He didn’t like that. He didn’t care about my broken bones, or my broken soul. He never did, and never will. All he ever cared about was the money, and I lost him a great big deal of money, that night.”

Yasha chuckles to herself, and more than anything else, that is a sound that startles Beauregard to the very core.

“I was good at fighting, though. I sobered up, with a lot of effort and time, and used physical pain as a drug for the emotional one. I’ve been fighting for Obann, half of the money going to him to seal my debt, half of it keeping it to survive.”

Beau opens her mouth to say that half of a win can’t possibly be enough to survive, because she  _ knows _ , because she’s  _ tried _ .

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say a single word.

Beau swallows, and she swallows bile and blood, realizing only as she does that she bit her tongue so hard she’s split it open.

As she swallows, as she covers a grimace at the taste of blood, she turns and swipes her cheeks quickly with the sleeve of her jacket, eliminating every trace of tears.

When she looks back at Yasha, Yasha is staring at her palms, and her expression betrays the deep thoughts she’s lost in.

“I’ve never told anyone the full story.” Yasha murmurs, and she sounds almost surprised.

Beau, never knowing what the right way to answer is, releases a chuckle and blurts out: “Yeah, that’s the longer I’ve ever heard you talking.”

Which is the absolute wrongest thing anyone can say after a story like that, and Beau closes her eyes, horrified by herself.

But when she reopens them, Yasha is staring at her, and although her expression is flat and emotionless, her eyes spark in gratitude.

“Yeah, you’re usually the one doing all the talking.”

Her lips tilt in a half smile. It’s tired, and full of pain, but it looks sincere.

Beau smiles, back in relief, then hoists her hips up to rummage in the back pockets of her jeans.

She pulls out her phone and a pair of headphones. Untangling that mess takes a few minutes of muttered cussing, but when she eventually undoes all the knots, she holds one earbud out to Yasha, and plucks the other one in her left ear.

Yasha takes it and does the same, while Beau opens Spotify on her phone, before passing the device to Yasha.

There’s not much she can do. There’s not much she knows how to do, anyway, even with all her education, even with her schooling.

And even if, what Yasha needs right now is not a therapist, or someone to tell her that everything is going to be okay.

Beau has had half of the problems that Yasha described, and she knows it’s never that easy. Things are almost never going to be fully okay.

In the past, they have expressed their emotions through sex, and through fighting. Pain and pleasure, mixing together in one tangled mess of feelings that Beau can’t even begin to process at the moment.

“Here. You’re clearly the DJ tonight anyway.”

Yasha smiles, and taps a couple words in the search bar.

_ Dancing with your ghost _ starts playing, and Beau watches as Yasha closes her eyes and leans her head back against the rear panel of the truck.

Beau sighs, and closes her eyes, listening to the soft notes of a song she knows all too well, and she feels content.

Because what Yasha needs right now, and quite possibly for the next foreseeable future, is a friend.

And Beau has never been the right daughter, or a proper girlfriend. Definitely not an advice giver either, in her opinion.

But she can be a hell of a good friend.

***

Yasha’s heart thumps painfully and slowly in her chest.

It’s going back to its regular pace, and the sorrow in her stomach is giving way to a more peaceful resignation.

As the song comes to a close and her next one,  _ Song for Zula, _ begins, Yasha turns to look at Beauregard.

The other girl is sitting with her eyes closed, hands clasped in her lap, and her expression betrays nothing.

Yasha blinks in her direction, her body responding to the sight in a way that she doesn’t expect.

Everything about Beau pulls her forward, like a magnet.

Yasha doesn’t exactly understand how she’s managed to keep that story inside of her for so long: speaking it out loud, telling Beau everything that’s happened, has lifted a massive boulder off her stomach.

And the fact that Beau had listened to all of it without saying a word, without interrupting that stream of half conscious thoughts and memories… That had massively helped.

Yasha wants to grab Beau’s hands, she wants to tell her how grateful she is to have her in her life, she wants to kiss her and ask her to stay in her life.

But she can’t bring herself to do any of that.

It’s very clear to her that the feelings she has for this girl are stronger than she imagined before, and they are only growing with each passing day. 

But the fear of what Obann might do and the burning sense of guilt that gnaws at her heart every time she thinks of Zuala keep her frozen solid in place.

She can’t. She can’t betray Zuala's memory like this.

It’s been years now, that much is true. But she’d told her she was going to love her for the rest of her life, and she wants to keep that promise.

No matter what other wonderful, dangerous, exhilarating feelings Beauregard might make her feel.

She can’t endanger Beau either, with all that’s going on with Obann, and she can’t do it just because she wants comfort, because she feels lonely.

Certainly that is not what Beau had signed up for when they’d first hooked up.

No.

Her feelings are best kept at bay, safe inside of her.

“You’re staring.” Beau mutters, and Yasha jumps.

She blinks quickly, turning to focus her gaze back on the beautiful night sky.

“No, I’m not.” she lies, and Beau chuckles, stirring and stretching to get herself in a better position.

“Sure. So, uhm, can I ask you a question?”

Yasha, fully expecting for that to happen, nods.

“How much do you owe the bastard? And like, can’t you get a job, something that pays under the table, to help?”

Yasha sighs, shrugs, and taps her fingers on the blanket.

“I owe him thousands of dollars, I’m afraid. Less than what I owed him two years ago, at least. I do have a weekend job, and it pays well, but jobs are hard to come by.”

Yasha smiles softly at Beau.

“Even if I wasn’t an immigrant, nobody wants to hire a junkie. And that fact, somehow, always comes out.”

Beau frowns, and Yasha is prepared to hear her spewing out profanities about people being narrow minded, but what Beau says next catches her completely by surprise.

“Not a junkie. You had a substance use disorder.”

Beau’s tone is firm, but Yasha frowns as well.

“What’s the difference?”

Beau seems to hesitate for a long moment, then her hand moves and settles on Yasha’s.

“The difference is that the words are just wrong. You had a substance use disorder, which means you had a problem. Words like junkie, or addict or whatever… They’re all words that imply differently.”

Beau looks up at her, and there’s no pity in her eyes, just understanding and care.

“You had a problem. But you are  _ not  _ and never have  _ been  _ the problem.”

Yasha doesn’t know what it is, or maybe she knows all too well.

Maybe it’s the feeling of guilt that she’s been carrying since Zuala’s death, the shadow over her head telling her how much of a screw up she’d been. Telling her that if she’d been sober, that if she’d been smarter, that if she’d been  _ better…  _ All this would never have happened.

The shame that had prevented her from going back to look for Zuala’s records, to know where she’d been buried, had been fueled by the blame she’d always put on herself for being so weak, so gullible, so problematic.

But the moment Beau says those few simple, powerful words, it’s like something shifts inside of her.

Hearing that  _ maybe _ , just maybe, her addiction and the troubles she’d gone through after Zuala’s death had been something that had happened to her, rather than something she’d gone looking for.

That maybe, just  _ maybe _ , it hadn’t been her fault after all.

And her spirit breaks once more, in a warmer way, and the floodgates open, and she finds herself choking on a sob.

Beau’s eyes widen, and her expression is of pure horror.

“Shit. Fuck. No, I-” she stammers. “Yasha, sorry,  _ fuck _ . I didn’t mean-”

Yasha shakes her head, and laughs, and even between the tears, it’s the easiest she’s laughed in a long time.

She clutches Beau’s hand in hers and shakes her head again.

She can’t talk, but Beauregard seems to be okay with that. The girl swings one arm across her shoulders and Yasha leans in, suffocating her sobs in Beau’s shoulder.

The relief, the anger, the hope, the regret. Everything comes out, in a tangle of messy emotions, as she cries her heart out.

Beau holds her steady, and Yasha can feel the ghost of a kiss on the crown of her head. She wraps her arms around Beau’s waist and closes her eyes.

“It’s alright, Yasha.” Beau says, in a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

Yasha can only nod.

“I’ve got you.”

***

As the sun rises over the hills and illuminates the skyline of Zadash, Beau stirs.

She props herself up on her elbow and the hood of her sweatshirt falls on her shoulders. Squinting and yawning, she finds Yasha.

The other woman is sitting at the very back of the truck, having lowered the tailgate to swing her legs over the edge of the bedfloor, feet dangling and the blanket wrapped around her body.

Beau joins her, only half surprised to see Yasha’s bare feet touching the growing grass.

“It’s beautiful.” Yasha says as a good morning.

The air is cold, and Beau leans back to grab her own blanket and cocoon herself into it.

“Mhm.” she grunts, never the morning person.

Yasha doesn’t look away from the rising sun, and rocks side to side to bump Beau with her shoulder.

“You should come visit me at my work, over the weekend.” she tells her. 

Beau is happy to hear that her voice sounds serene, light and content. Gods know Yasha doesn’t need any more sorrows. She’s even happier to hear the invitation.

“It’s a bit far out of town, but it’s a good crowd, and the shows are not exactly Cirque de Soleil material, but it’s a decent amount of fun, and the crew...”

Beau’s brain takes a full thirty second to catch up.

It’s the Cirque de Soleil comment that tips her off, really, but what shocks her is that she’s known Yasha for  _ months  _ now, and it never somehow occurred to any of them to share that she works right where-

“I did tell my friend Molly about the Fight Club, and he made weird faces, but he accepted it.”

Yasha stops, finally having turned to look at a shocked Beau.

“Beauregard? Is everything okay?”

Beauregard blinks once, twice.

“Yeah, uh. Uh. Did you… Did you tell your friend Mo… Molly. About me?”

Yasha shrugs.

“A couple times. Why?”

Beauregard’s chuckle starts low, before it grows into a mad, hysterical laugh.

Yasha looks at her with a worried expression, and Beau’s laughter becomes almost too high pitched to be normal.

“Oh, he is going to  _ murder  _ me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know, as usual, what you think. I wrote this chapter almost in a haze, and I'm not sure how it came out cause I refuse to re read the pain I caused LMAO


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am but a caffeinated, sleep deprived dumbass who has somehow managed to write one more chapter instead of like. Sleeping.  
> I have most definitely not read this after writing, so errmmm... Enjoy?

Chapter Eight

Beauregard walks in without bothering to knock.

The person sitting at the desk barely looks up before going back to their documents.

It’s a full ten seconds before the young, breathless secretary appears at the door, eyes wide and apologetic.

“I-I am so sorry… She slipped through before anyone could notice, I’m really-”

The lawyer raises their hand, successfully interrupting the secretary, and the girl nods her head before disappearing back into the hallway.

Beauregard grins as she closes the door behind her.

“They’re getting worse.” she comments.

The person grunts.

“Or you’re getting better.”

Beau brings a palm to her heart, feigning pure shock and delight.

“Why, Dairon, was that a compliment?’

Dairon, still focused on their own documents, scoffs.

“Barely.” and then, “Sit.”

Beauregard obeys, not without satisfaction, and quietly takes a seat on one of the stupidly comfortable chairs in front of Dairon’s desk.

She crosses her foot under her thigh and leans fully into the chair, closing her eyes. She knows she could very easily fall asleep before Dairon decides it’s time for them to talk, because it’s happened before.

Beau has lost count of how many times she’s sat on those chairs, how many times she’s visited Dairon for advice, for work, for money, for a lesson. Countless evenings she’s fallen asleep on those very chairs, not having the courage to go back to her apartment for the night.

This time around, though, she doesn’t want to fall asleep. She is here for business.

Dairon takes their sweet time before deciding that they can put aside their work and focus on Beauregard, and when they do it’s with a raised eyebrow and a scowl on their face.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you have to book an appointment?”

“It’s important.” Beau shrugs, cranking one eye open, then the next.

“I could’ve been with a client.”

“But you weren’t.”

Dairon almost growls at her.

“This is exactly why Zeenoth doesn’t like you.”

Beau cackles.

“Tough luck. Zeenoth is an idiot anyway.”

Dairon stares.

“What do you want?”

Finally, Beau straightens up her spine, grabbing her bag from the floor and rummaging through it. She pulls out a stack of documents, places them on the desk and slides them towards Dairon.

The lawyer’s eyebrows fold even higher, as they grab their documents and take a look at the first page.

“I see. It’s this kind of job.” they mutter, flipping through the pages. “Job offer?”

“Working on it. But it’s not going to be a problem.”

“What kind of job?”

“Full-time. Sales assistant, low-skilled.”

“Wage.”   
“Above requirement levels.”

“Labour market assessment and criminal background check.”

“Now  _ that’s  _ what we’re trying to avoid.”

“Mhm.”

Dairon’s eyes scan the remaining of the documents, and as they flip to the last page, her brows furrow. When she looks up, her expression is of curiosity and even a bit of skepticism.

“I see. And you expect me to do this pro-bono?”

Beauregard, arms crossed on her chest, lifts one foot on the desk, successfully sparking a flame of irritation in Dairon’s eyes.

“More or less, yes.”

Dairon mimics her position, minus the heeled foot on the table, preferring to cross their legs under the desk instead.

It resembles one of the very first times Beau’s seen her in that very same office, years ago.

Dairon exudes power, knowledge, and a rightful amount of fear.

But if there is someone who can help her, even more so than usual, that person is Dairon.

“And what makes you think I’ll do this for free?”

Beauregard lips lazily tilt upwards.

“I mean… Maybe not  _ entirely  _ for free…”

Dairon grunts.

“Get to it, Beauregard. I don’t have all day.”

Beauregard Lionett stretches arms and legs, taking her sweet time to find a more comfortable position on the chair, before leaning with her chin on the palm of her hand, eyes glimmering with mischief.

“What do you know about a man named…  _ Obann _ ?”

Dairon’s face falls completely, their eyes widen and darken, and the lawyer slowly uncrosses their arms.

“...Start talking.”

***

Yasha nervously taps her heels together, clenching and unclenching her fists inside the pockets of her worn out leather jacket.

People pass her by on the sidewalk, some of them throwing suspicious gazes at her tall form, some others ignoring her completely.

She has no idea what to expect.

Beauregard has told her to meet her in front of the same cafe where she’d first encountered Mollymauk Tealeaf, all those months ago, at noon on Friday. Yasha hadn’t really questioned the request, deciding to trust Beauregard with whatever she had in mind, but now she starts wondering whether or not that had been a good idea.

Driving back from the fields, Beauregard had told her about having had a couple ideas after their talk, without really mentioning any details, right before dropping her off in front of her apartment building.

Yasha doesn’t have Beau’s phone number, and even then she doubts anyone around her would be willing to lend her their device, as she does not own a phone herself.

But it’s almost been fifteen minutes past the scheduled time, and Beauregard hasn’t shown up.

Yasha doesn’t think Beauregard is the kind of person to stand someone up, but they also haven’t had much time to talk after the morning at the field, and Beau hadn’t looked very thrilled at the fact that both of them had seemed to be knowing Mollymauk.

Beau hadn’t explained much about that either, only stuttering something about the fact that Molly is one of the friends who didn’t know about the Fight Club.

Yasha had felt tremendously guilty for the past couple of days, despite Beau’s reassurances that everything was fine.

Uncertain on what to do, Yasha nearly jumps out of her own skin when a hand taps her on the shoulder.

She turns around, heart in her throat, to find the curious, gentle eyes of a gentleman in his late twenties, dark hair with silver highlights and light brown eyes that shade almost to yellow.

“Hi.” he waves, a bit awkwardly. “ _ Ye _ must be Yasha?”

His accent is a bit funny, nothing that Yasha can exactly pinpoint, but she is also still very foreign to all the accents of the various areas of the Empire.

“I- Yes?”

The guy shoves his hands inside the pockets of the leather looking apron he’s wearing, and gestures with his head to follow.

When Yasha doesn’t make a single movement, he turns and smiles again, although with a bit more uncertainty.

“Right, uh… Beau sent me to pick you up?”

Yasha perks up at the mention of Beauregard; she nods and moves towards the man.

“Sorry,” he says “Beau just texted to tell me she’s running a bit behind at work, but she assured us she’ll be meeting us at the shop soon. She sent me to pick you up so that you wouldn’t think she stood you up or anythin’.’

Yasha nods, confused.

She has no idea who this guy is, or where they’re directed, but once again she decides to trust Beau and, indirectly, this friend of hers.

The guy introduces himself as Fjord, and after a few poor attempts at conversation that fail miserably due to both Yasha’s awkward one-word responses and Fjord’s apparent inability to make small talk, silence falls between them.

Yasha wants to kick herself in the face: this is the first time she’s meeting one of Beauregard’s friends, and all she can do is grunt and stare.

They reach Main Street fairly quickly, and the first thing Yasha notices is the same pick up truck that her and Beau have used to camp in the farm fields, parked on the other side of the street.

Small flashes of their conversation come back to her.

“I thought you were supposed to go see Jester’s mom for the weekend.” she says, without really being able to contain herself.

Fjord doesn’t look at all surprised at her statement, though, seeming quite pleased and relieved to have a new hook for a conversation.

“Err, yeah. We were supposed to, yeah.” he nods. “But Jes’ mom had to take a last minute engagement for a special client, and we had to reschedule for next week. Beau wasn’t happy to give up the truck so soon, but I guess she is happy we’re available to do this, now.”

Yasha only has half of an idea of what that might mean, but she doesn’t have time to ask for anything more as Fjord fumbles with his keys to open a glass door of what looks like a flower shop. The sign on top of it spells out  _ Hello Bees - Flower for every hour _ .

The sign on the door reads “We’ll be right back!” with a crossed out marker comment underneath that still clearly says “We’re probably pooping!”.

Yasha looks at it, puzzled, before Fjord flips it back to “OPEN” (with a “eheh” crossed out underneath).

The bell jingles happily as they walk into the store, and Yasha’s attention is immediately captured by the myriad of different flowers and plants on the shelves.

Fjord disappears somewhere in the back of the shop from a door behind the main desk, and Yasha is left alone in the big store, nose in the air as she admires the multitude of colors and shades of green. 

The shop is a decently sized place, separated neatly in rows of flowers of every kind on the left and a similar amount of rows full of plants on the right. In the very middle, separating the two areas, there are shelves filled with empty pots and hangers, together with gardening tool sets and cute Winter Crest and Christmas decorations. Yasha finally understands the meaning of the expression ‘feeling like a kid in a candy store’, but instead of candies, she’s surrounded by beautiful flowers.

Yasha takes one hand out of her pocket to carefully pluck away a dead petal off one of the flowers, and the bell jingles once again.

She briefly looks up, but once she realizes it’s not Beauregard at the door she goes back to the flowers, absentmindedly plucking at the dead leaves she sees, piling them up in a corner of the shelf.

“Excuse me?”

Yasha flinches, instinctively taking a step back as the woman who’s just walked into the store taps her on the forearm.

“Do you work here?”

Yasha blinks, taken aback by the fact that a stranger has for the first time approached her on their own accord, and stammers a barely audible: “Errr....”

The woman nods.

“Great. I need flowers for my sister.” she starts saying, as she points at a few different compositions. Yasha panics, and instead of interrupting the woman, she just freezes and stares.

“We’ve been on a rough path for a while, but we’ve finally decided to be better at talking to each other, you know, family drama and all that…” the lady keeps going. “Her favorite color is yellow and I thought that maybe I could get her some carnations to-”

“No.”

The woman and Yasha look at each other, almost surprised by Yasha’s burst.

“Uhm. No. I mean. Not carnations.” Yasha mutters, unsure on what to do, but certain of one thing. Yellow carnation is a terrible choice for the situation.

“Yellow carnations symbolize disappointment, or rejection. That’s probably not what you want.” she tries again, turning towards the wall of flowers to scan the shelves. She points at the group of tulips. “If you want something yellow, go with these. They stand for hope and happy thoughts.”

Yasha tilts her head at the flowers and a smile tugs at her lips.

“Tulips are happy flowers.”

The woman releases a relieved laugh, and she nods gratefully at Yasha.

“Thank you, that is exactly why I needed you guys’ help. Can I have half a dozen of those?”

Yasha’s eyes widen, as she realizes that the woman really does think she works at the shop, but before she can say anything to explain, Fjord’s voice interjects.

“Absolutely, ma’am. I can help you over here at the counter. We have a nice selection of cards, if you want to take a look at those as well.”

The woman walks on the other side of the shop.

Yasha shoves her hands in her pockets again, flushing as red as the roses next to her, and bites her lip as Fjord approaches the shelf to grab the tulips.

He smiles at her and nods in the direction of his customer.

“I knew I could trust Beau. She always had a good eye for these things. She was the one who convinced me to change my major, after all.”

Yasha frowns.

“Uhm. Uh?” 

The more she talks to Fjord, the less she understands about the situation.

Fjord looks just as confused as she is, at least, as he plucks the last tulip out of the rack. He scratches the back of his head.

“Oh. Did- Did Beau…” he stops, frowns, then: “What did Beau tell you?”

Yasha wants to punch herself for not asking for more information right away, and also Beau for being so damn mysterious.

“Uhm. Nothing?”

Her response seems to at least clear the confusion off his face, as he chuckles to himself.

“That is also very classic of that dumbass. She seems to forget not everyone is as smart as she is.”

Fjord looks back at his customer, who has picked a card of the rack and is now heading toward the cash register.

He turns to look at Yasha.

“We need a full time helper at the shop. Me and Cad can’t do it on our own, especially not now that Cad wants to finish his residency at the hospital. Beau suggested we hired you.”

Yasha’s brain takes a good handful of seconds to catch up, and by then Fjord has excused himself to go help his customer.

Yasha is left staring at the flowers, her heart in her throat, as the bell jingles once again.

***

Beau loves her gig at the library. She really does.

Caleb is good company on his fun days and an easily ignorable one whenever he decides to pick on her just to offset his bad moods. They let her eat at her desk and shuffle her shifts around as she pleases, and it’s good enough money to lead a comfortable life in a city like Zadash.

What she does not love is inventory days. Especially when Zeenoth decides to spring them on her last minute, without any sort of forewarning.

Beau suspects Dairon must’ve told him about her comment about him being an idiot, but it’s not like Zeenoth needs an excuse to be an asshole anyway.

She normally wouldn’t care, but when noon comes ticking by and she still hasn’t managed to leave, her patience runs out.

So she slides her tablet back on the desk and grabs her bag and skateboard, tip toes around the shelves of the philosophy section and stealthily walks behind a focused Zeenoth, bent over a box of new deliveries. As quietly as she possibly can, she slaps Caleb on the back of his neck on her way out the door, and it’s only then that she starts running.

The sliding doors close behind her, and by the time Zeenoth comes out running and screaming his face off about firing her, Beauregard is already rounding the corner, middle finger in the air.

She merges into traffic with her board, skates behind a nearby car, grabs the edge of the tailgate and ducks. The Mercedes-Benz keeps trotting up the hill, dragging her with it as it goes, and successfully cutting her travel time in almost half. Once the car turns toward the highway, Beau lets go of the tailgate, pushing herself through the Main Street traffic.

She slaloms easily through the cars and the bikes, ignoring a couple honks as she attempts a few arguably safe maneuvers, and skids to a stop right in front of  _ Hello Bees _ . She parks her skate next to the door, pushing herself inside and lowering the hood on her neck.

Beau knows that place like the back of her hand and she could tell when something is out of place in the blink of an eye.

But even if she didn’t, walking right in and finding Yasha standing there, surrounded by flowers, is a sight that just looks  _ right _ .

Beau grins and waves in her direction, and Yasha hesitantly waves back.

“Hey. I’m sorry I’m late. Work.”

Yasha nods, and Beau’s smile wavers. The other woman looks confused, and ever so slightly anxious.

“Is everything okay?”

Yasha blinks. She turns her head towards the cash register, where Fjord is amiably chatting with a woman, then back to look at Beau.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, eyes darting to the door and then back.

Beau carefully side steps, ensuring that the way to the exit is clear in case Yasha decides that she needs to get out.

“About what?” she asks, uncertain to where this conversation is supposed to be going.

“Fjord told me about… A job? That you suggested I… About me working here?”

Beau bites her lips. She knows she should’ve asked, or at least talked to Yasha about the opportunity of a job before setting the gig up, but she had hoped to do so that morning.

Work -mainly Zeenoth- had screwed over her plans.

“I’m sorry. I just thought… You’ve mentioned how hard it is to find a job, and Fjord and Caddy really need help here.” she tries to explain. “I know how much you love flowers and I thought… I didn’t mean to get into your business, Yasha. I should’ve talked to you about it first.”

Yasha shoves her hands in her pockets, her cheeks tinted in a pale shade of red.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t…” she murmurs, turning once more to briefly look at Fjord, then at the ground. “I would love to have a job like this one, Beau.”

The customer waves at them as they walk out and Beau manages to plaster a smile on her face before she leaves the shop.

Beau catches Fjord’s gaze just as he frowns in her direction. She quickly shakes her head and he busies himself with facing some of the cards.

“Then what’s the problem?” Beau asks, hoping she doesn’t sound as blunt as her friends tell her she often is.

“It’s just… I told you. No one wants to hire an immigrant who… With, with a problem like mine.”

Yasha avoids her gaze, the redness of her frustration and her shame clear on her features.

Beau takes half a step forward, gently grabbing her elbow. She ducks her head, trying to get Yasha to meet her eyes.

“Yash, hey. You don’t have to worry about that.” she whispers, mentally berating herself. She  _ definitely  _ should’ve had this conversation before. “Fjord grew up in the system. He’s seen it all. Caduceus initially wanted to open this store in order to sell hallucinogenic mushrooms, and the only reason why that didn’t happen is because he couldn’t find a name for the shop that he actually enjoyed.”

Yasha flinches, and Beau’s heart soars when she sees that it’s because she just snorted out a small laugh.

Encouraged, Beau continues.

“Jester’s mom is a sex worker. Caleb spent a few years in rehab in a mental health hospital. Veth is just now figuring out her alcohol use disorder. Molly is… Well, Molly. And you know what  _ I _ am into.”

To Beauregard's huge relief, Yasha finally looks up at her. She shuffles her weight from one foot to the other.

“What I’m tryna say here is…” Beau continues. “We all are people society tends to judge and reject. We all have our history and our peculiarity and our problems. No one is ever going to judge you for what happened.”

Yasha remains quiet for a long moment and then, finally, nods.

They stare at each other for a long moment, before Yasha releases a breath of air and punches Beau on the shoulder.

It’s not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to be felt.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Yasha mutters.

“I’m really, truly sorry.” Beau promises. “I won’t.”

Yasha clears her throat, nods, then shoves her hands back in her pockets.

To get out of this incredibly uncomfortable situation, Beau looks past Yasha’s shoulder to find Fjord. She gestures for him to approach, and he seems as relieved as she is.

He steps up to the two of them, and Yasha flushes red. She stammers on her own words, before finally managing to string together a sentence.

“So, uhm. Do I really get to work with flowers?”

Beau’s heart skips a beat.

Fjord nods with an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, if you wanna, of course. We need someone on weekdays. We are pretty flexible with the schedule, for now, but we’re really needing someone who can commit to a full-time job.”

Yasha nods to everything Fjord says, and Beau tilts her head.

Fjord might not notice it, but there is excitement and happiness growing in Yasha’s eyes.

“What do you know about caring for plants?” Fjord asks. He looks relaxed, in his element. Beau knows that he wants Yasha to succeed just as much as she does, because he is, just like every one of her friends, just that good of a human being.

Yasha hesitates at the question, looking briefly at Beau before shaking her head.

“Not much. I’m sorry.”

Fjord shrugs.

“That’s fine. We can teach you. I feel like you might be of help on delivery day. I assume you can lift at least fifty pounds?”

Beau bites her lip, hard, trying not to laugh at the thought of Yasha being able to lift opponents of her own size while Fjord can barely take a forty pound bag of dirt out of the truck.

But instead of answering, Yasha turns to look at Beau.

“How much do  _ you  _ weigh?” she asks, with the most serious, professional tone Beau’s ever heard her sporting.

Fjord sputters and Beau’s jaw goes slack.

“I- I’m, I’m one-thirty…” she manages to stutter, completely taken aback.

Yasha’s eyes spark, full of mirth, before she focuses back on Fjord.

“Then I can easily lift at least one-thirty.” she says, completely deadpan.

Fjord’s skin is as purple as the lavender on the lowest row, as the poor guy widens his eyes and blurts out a: “You-  _ what _ ?!”

Beau groans, hiding her face in her hands, and peeking from her fingers just enough to see Yasha’s smug expression.

“You deserved it.” Yasha tells her, and Beau groans louder.

She did. She does.

Fjord is not going to keep the gossip to himself, and she knows everyone will know by the end of the night.

For whatever fucking reason, Beau doesn’t care even one bit.

Because Yasha is giggling to herself, and Fjord has something in his eyes that looks a lot like happiness, and Beau knows that all of this is worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thiiiiiiiiiiiink!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's put it this way. I was not 100% awake nor sober when I wrote this chapter so maybe bear with me.  
> I'm sure this could use a lot of editing, but aaaaanygay, enjoy.

Chapter Nine

She gets the job.

It doesn’t seem to be that big of a surprise to Beau, and Fjord must’ve expected the best possible outcome, because he shows her to the back room, clears up one of the tables to allow her to sign the contract and fill up the tax documents.

He goes back to the shop to help some customers, but Beau remains with her.

They look at each other for a brief moment, before Beau lowers her gaze to the ground and moves her backpack to the other shoulder.

“I’m really sorry for not talking to you about it beforehand.” Beau mutters, without looking at her. “I was worried Fjord and Cad were going to hire someone else instead, so I had to move quickly. Not that it’s a real excuse. It’s not going to happen again.”

Yasha clutches the papers to her chest, not exactly knowing how to feel about the whole situation.

She is still slightly nervous and anxious for having had the whole thing sprung onto her without a single warning, but she is also incredibly excited and grateful for the opportunity Beau and her friends are giving her.

More than everything, though, she is still a bit in shock: never in a million years she would’ve thought someone was really going to take her word for it and trust her, offering her a full time job.

When Fjord had mentioned the hourly wage, Yasha had had to grab one of the shelves to steady herself. She’d blinked and nodded her agreement, not really knowing how to tell Fjord that it was more than she’s ever expected to receive, more than she’s ever earned for any of her side gigs. Fjord had even apologized for not being able to offer more, but he’d added that with Winter’s Crest and Christmas approaching they are going to be able to give all employees a holiday bonus. And being Fjord, Caduceus and herself the only employees, the bonus should probably be something really good to look forward to.

So really, Beau apologizing for giving her one of the best gifts she could ever receive completely outshines the small level of discomfort she’s felt.

“You shouldn’t have.” Yasha confirms, not wanting to brush over it like nothing happened. “But it’s okay… You are okay.”

Beau looks up, uncertain, but with a small, mischievous smile already growing on her face.

“Really?”

Yasha chuckles, busying herself by fixing her hair behind her ear.

“Really. Thank you for the job.”

Beau raises her hands and shakes her head.

“Oh, that was all you, man. It’s your charm and all.”

Yasha really doesn’t know how to answer  _ that _ , so she places the papers on the table and takes a seat.

“I’ll… I’ll do these…” she tries to say, for no reason at all other than hopefully hide her flustered face from Beau.

Beau nods and hoists herself up on one of the counters, fishing her phone from her pocket.

“Yeah, yeah. Uhm, yeah just lemme know if you need any help.”

Yasha nods and gets to work.

The forms are pretty straightforward, all in all.

Yasha only has to ask a couple clarifications on the tax form, but she stops when she reaches the contacts list.

“Uhm.” she starts. “Do I need to provide a phone number? I… I do not own a cellphone.”

Beau looks up from her own device and cranks her neck to check the form from above Yasha’s shoulder, then shakes her head and goes back to tapping on her screen.

“Nah. It’s just standard information. As long as you have an e-mail for general stuff and keep the communication going with Fjord, you’ll be fine.”

Yasha is not convinced. She knows many people are put off by the fact that she doesn’t have a phone. But really, who can afford a phone when she can barely afford her own food?

“Are you certain?”

Beau nods without looking up.

“Yeah. Caduceus doesn’t have a phone either. Although I’m pretty sure Jester is planning to get him one for Winter’s Crest. She can’t bear the idea of not being able to send him a bunch of dick pics.”

Yasha blinks.

She is getting used to hearing Beau talking about her friends and the strangeness they get up to, but she’s very confused as to why they should be sending each other pictures of penises. She doesn’t think that is very polite, even if they are very close friends.

Her confusion must be showing on her face, because when Beau looks up from her phone, a laugh escapes her.

“Shit, right. You don’t know.” she says with a cackle. “Not  _ actual  _ dick pics. Jester has the horrible habit of drawing dicks everywhere she goes. Mostly on library books and walls.”

Beau opens the gallery on her phone and passes it to Yasha. She skims through a couple pictures of Jester, a happy girl with blue hair, smiling next to a graffiti here, or with a book in her hands there. Yasha recognizes her as one of the people she sort of saw at the park, all that time ago, and faintly realizes that Fjord must’ve been there, too.

Yasha frowns.

“That’s… Is that okay?” she asks, not exactly knowing what to think of this strange habit of Jester.

Beau shrugs, leaning back against the wall again and going back to whatever she was doing on her phone.

“It’s really not. We’ve been trying to convince her that defiling library books and public washrooms is really not the best way to express her artistic side, but she doesn’t really listen to any of us. We sort of got used to it after a while. They  _ are  _ harmless dick pics after all.”

Yasha scribbles a N/A under phone number in her form, and hums.

She is surprised, more than anything. Beau’s friends seem to be the kind of people she could really get along with, and considering that she already has a great relationship with Beau and Molly, and that Fjord hired her basically on her spot, she wonders how she got lucky enough to find all these people in her life.

This Jester, too, seems like a lot of fun. Beau has mentioned to her in the past how literally everyone in her group has had a crush on Jester at some point, and Yasha can’t find it hard to believe it.

She goes back to her form and stares at the next line.

She clears her voice. Hesitates. Then...

“Beau?”

“Mhm.”

Yasha doesn’t look up.

“What’s your phone number?”

Yasha feels Beau’s eyes on her, but she refuses to move, she refuses to acknowledge Beau’s curiosity.

“Uhm. Why?”

“I need an emergency contact.”

A beat.

“Oh.”

There is silence for a long moment, and Yasha closes her eyes. Her heart is thundering in her chest, and she once again asks herself what it is about Beau that makes her so nervous.

But Beau clears her throat and tells her her phone number, and Yasha releases a relieved breath.

She finishes up completing her forms in the most absolute silence, and Beau doesn’t break it.

On the way out, after establishing with Fjord that she would’ve been clear to start on Monday morning, Beau grabs her skateboard from where it’s sitting and turns to look at Yasha.

“Hey, so… I was thinking... “ she hesitates, then: “Do you have anywhere or anyone to celebrate the holidays with?”

Yasha plays with the broken zipper of her jacket, studying the way Beau avoids looking at her.

They both know the answer to that question, although Yasha has the feeling Beau is just asking to give her a chance to get out of the conversation, to lie, in case she doesn’t want to respond to what’s inevitably coming afterwards.

But Yasha really has nobody to spend the holidays with, and the idea of celebrating Winter’s Crest with Beauregard is more than she could ever ask.

“I do not.” she responds, softly.

Beau nods.

“Do you- Ah, do you want to maybe come over to mine on Christmas day? The Nein will be there.” Beau rubs the tip of her sneaker against the sidewalk. “Molly will be there.”

Yasha thinks of her last few Christmases.

She doesn’t remember the one from three years ago, too high and too fucked up to even realize which day of the year it was. The past two Christmases have been even worse than that: she’d remembered, and she’d been sober. Sober to realize how lonely she was, and how so empty her life was going to be.

Before then, there had been Zuala. Yasha has memories of a couple holidays spent walking in the snow, of freezing in the cold air of winter, of staring at the markets without even considering going in. Everything was always so expensive anyway.

And before then, there had been war.

Yasha is fearful of where her life is right now, and where it’s going to be in a month or two. The threat of Obann is always looming around the corner. But Beauregard is warm and Beauregard is offering her a chance to make new memories.

Yasha would be a fool to pass on the opportunity.

It’s what she tells herself is the reason why she wants it.

The reason being better memories to think back when she thinks about the holidays. The reason being feeling less alone than what she’s felt in the last couple of years.

Beau looks at her with hope in her eyes and Yasha tells herself that she can say no to this woman any time she wants anyway. Just not this time.

“I would love that.” she says, and her heart squeezes painfully in her chest at the sight of Beauregard’s smile.

***

Beau avoids her friends like the motherfucking  _ plague _ .

After introducing Yasha to Fjord at  _ Hello Bees _ and helping her with her forms, she opens up her phone to find a slew of very ridiculous messages.

> Cap’n Fjord: Good news, everyone! We finally hired a helper at the shop!
> 
> NotVeth: who dat
> 
> Cap’n Fjord: Beau’s girlfriend, apparently.
> 
> Jes <3 : BEAU’S WHAT
> 
> Jes <3: beau
> 
> Jes <3: BEAU
> 
> Jes <3: BEAU WHERE ARE YOU
> 
> Jes <3: How did we not know this
> 
> Jes <3: Beauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
> 
> Cap’n Fjord: She’s probably on her way home, Jester.
> 
> Jes <3: But I want to knooooooooow!
> 
> Jes <3: What’s her name?
> 
> Jes <3: What’s she like?
> 
> Cap’n Fjord: Her name’s Yasha. She seems pretty cool.

Beau rolls her eyes, sticking her skate under her armpit and her mail through her teeth before using one hand to turn the key of her apartment door and the other to type a message.

She gets halfway through a “She’s not my girlfriend” before a new message pops up.

> AnnoyingOne: Yasha. What a unique name

Beau looks at it, horrified. Luckily enough, Caleb intervenes.

> HoboWizard: Rich coming from you, Mollymauk Tealeaf.

Beau drops all of her stuff on the couch, before sinking onto it herself. She unties her hair, letting it fall loosely on her shoulders.

As the group keeps bantering about names and what not, she notices the number of notifications from other chats. She swipes back and skims through them.

Caleb’s text is just to remind her they switched shifts for Monday. Jester’s conversation has seventeen unread messages, which Beau elects to ignore for the night, knowing all too well what they might be about.

Dairon has sent her a couple dropbox links with documents to review and finally, the most recent, is from…

> AnnoyingOne: Are we going to talk about this?

Beau turns off her phone, grabs the throw pillow from where it’s sitting at the edge of the couch and presses her face into it, releasing a loud, frustrated groan.

The Nein know not to bother her over the weekend unless it’s an emergency, and she is somewhat glad that the gossip about Yasha has come up on a Friday, so that she can let it die down before she has to turn the phone back on with the beginning of next week.

She makes her way to Kamordah, doing her best not to overthink about everyone and everything, but it’s a lost battle.

She’d never meant to ask Yasha to join for Christmas.

She’s not an idiot, nor she’s entirely clueless about her own feelings: she had wanted to invite Yasha over for the holiday celebrations, she’d been trying to figure out the best way to do it for the past two weeks.

But then they’d gone out to the fields, they’d shared that night in the back of the truck and Yasha had told her… Well. About Zuala. About what had happened.

And Beau had told herself that there was no way she could invite her over now, after knowing what she knew.

Everything that she was feeling -that she is still feeling- couldn’t possibly come out now. She couldn’t let Yasha know that she was so affected by what they had been doing, affected by her.

So Beau had told herself that inviting Yasha for Christmas would’ve been a terrible mistake, that certainly Yasha had better plans for her own holiday celebrations.

Until Yasha had asked her to be her emergency contact, throwing every single one of Beau’s resolutions to the fucking wind.

Because not only Yasha had not-so-subtly admitted that she is, in fact, completely alone in her life, but that she considered Beau close enough to be her emergency contact.

She could’ve left the space completely blank: after admitting she didn’t own a phone, no one would’ve thought about it twice if she’d left the line empty.

But no. She’d gone and asked Beau for her contact.

And now Beau, a woman with a special ability to overthink absolutely everything everyone and their mothers do, can’t figure out what she’s supposed to be doing.

How should she even behave around Yasha?

How could she possibly survive a whole holiday party in the same house as her, when all she wants to do is kiss her and hold her and tell her how much she-

Beau presses her forehead against the cold window of the train car and exhales.

“I’m so royally  _ fucked _ .”

Beau waits at the edge of the massive driveway until she is certain her father’s Tesla has left, then pokes her head out from her hiding spot. The manor looks quiet, empty and boring, like it’s always been.

She sneaks to the main tree of the front yard, ducking her head when she runs in front of the main windows, then starts making her way up.

It’s a climb she’s done countless times as a child, when Kiri’s bedroom had been her own.

Now, with the added aid of a full grown adult body, and the agility of a life spent fighting, training and working out, it takes less than half a minute for her to reach the second level of the house. She raps her knuckles against the window, and a blackhaired small head pops up from underneath the window sill.

Kiri casts a cursory glance at her and giggles, before opening the window and toddling away.

Beau lets herself inside, closing the window behind her to prevent the cold air from running in. She visibly shakes, the chills running down her spine from the sudden change in temperature, then shrugs her jacket away.

Kiri pit patters around the room, humming to herself and collecting her toys as she goes.

Beau hangs her jacket on the chair, observing with curiosity how her little sister seems less interested about showing her the toys like she usually is and instead collecting them in front of her wardrobe double door.

“Kiri?” Beau calls, gently, walking to her and crouching down to her level. “Is everything okay, kiddo?”

Kiri giggles again, her eyes darting from the pile of toys to the wardrobe.

“Everything okay!” she trills, patting the wooden door with the head of her Barbie.

Beau nearly jumps out of her own skin when another clear, happy giggle comes from  _ inside  _ the wardrobe.

She instinctively moves towards Kiri, who stumbles away, scared by the sudden movement.

Beau backtracks, getting on her knees and raising her hands.

“Sorry, Kiri.” she says. “I should’ve warned you. I’m not going to do that again. Promise.”

Kiri, hands twisting nervously on the Barbie, looks from wall to wall when she nods.

“Promise.” she echoes.

Once again, a muffled giggle comes from inside the closet.

Beau blinks in its direction, in equal measures curious and weirded the fuck out.

Carefully, she leans towards the door handle and twists it, pulling the door open.

For a short, quiet moment, everything is still.

Then, slowly, a small hand clutches the edge of the other, still closed door, and a tiny, dark haired child pokes their head out.

Beau’s breath catches in her throat.

Kiri hums happily, flailing her little hands around and tapping her bare feet on the floor.

The other child blinks, eyes full of wonders as they emerge fully from inside Kiri’s wardrobe to stare at the woman in front of him.

“Hey, TJ.” Beau exhales, like the sole sound of her voice could break the spell of the moment.

TJ blinks again, confused and curious at once, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Good morning, Miss.” the toddler says, uncertain.

Beau swallows a clump of bile and tears and anger, and opens her arms to the boy.

“TJ, do you remember me?” she asks. “It’s Beau. Your big sister.”

Kiri squeals in excitement, probably at the thought of having both siblings with her in her room.

“Beau!” she exclaims.

TJ tilts his head.

“Sister?” he repeats. The confusion on his face is clear, but he scrunches his nose in concentration, almost as he’s trying to remember a detail that keeps slipping away.

“Do you remember me?” Beau asks again, with more grief and less hope.

_ Stupid _ , she tells herself,  _ you’re such an idiot _ .

Because of course he doesn’t remember. How could he?

TJ had been only a couple years old when Beau had left the house for good. She’d gone back a couple times for the holidays, just to make her mother happy, just to rub it on Thoreau’s face that she was  _ good  _ now, she was so good without  _ him _ .

She’d tried her best to visit in secret, just like she’s been doing for Kiri.

But Thoreau Sr and wife were nothing if not proud when the young boy had been born. Since the moment he’d breathed into this world, TJ hadn’t been allowed to leave his parents’ side.

And now, after almost three years of not seeing her, TJ had probably forgotten her.

Beau feels a painful clench to the heart at the realization.

TJ keeps staring at her, almost like trying to convince himself of what he’s seeing.

“A little.” he says instead.

Beau’s breath itches.

“You do? You remember me?”

TJ nods.

He still looks very uncertain, and his face is scrunched into a frown, but he nods.

Beau holds out her arms again, without moving further nor closer, giving the child the time to make the decision for himself.

Finally, under Kiri’s unusually attentive stare, TJ’s frown smoothens out, and the little boy takes a few steps towards his big sister.

Beau envelops him in her arms, giving her brother the gentlest of squeezes.

There’s a beat of silence, then TJ slips his short arms around Beau’s waist, and the two hold themselves into their first hug after three years.

Beau chokes on her own tears, trying her best not to start sobbing in front of her too young siblings. Kiri, only a year wiser than TJ, approaches them with some of her toys.

“Play.” she says.

Beau clears her throat, releasing TJ from the hug, and nods at Kiri.

“Sure, kiddo. One, one moment, though…”

She sits back on the balls of her feet, skimming her hand through TJ’s hair. It’s the same color as hers, slightly lighter than Kiri’s. TJ smiles at her.

“I thought you went out with Father, TJ. That’s what you guys do every weekend, is it not?”

TJ shrugs, shoving a hand in his pocket in an adorable attempt to look older than he is.

“I told Father I had a tummy ache. He said I was gonna stay home.”

Beau tries her best not to cringe. It’s positively unsettling to hear a five year old child say ‘Father’ with that level of deference and fear in his voice.

Her mind, though, starts running a mile a minute.

Because her father would’ve never missed his weekend getaways, that was certain.

But he also would’ve never left his precious male child  _ alone  _ with a stomach ache.

So if Thoreau isn’t home, but TJ is…

Before she can even attempt to make a run for the window, the clear sound of footsteps starts to resonate in the hallway.

TJ, clueless to everything that is happening, dives for the toys. But Beau and Kiri, all too aware of whom those steps belong to, freeze in place.

“Thoreau Junior, are you in-?”

As the door swings open, and Clara Lionett walks in, time itself seems to stop.

TJ, with a Barbie in one hand and a stuffed sheep in the other, eyes full of curiosity.

Kiri, with a Barbie in her hand as well and absolute terror painted on her face.

Beau, arm extended towards Kiri, body tense as it remains between her own mother and her younger siblings.

And Clara, fingers on the handle becoming white at the knuckles, shock and confusion painted over perfect, aging features.

Beau slowly stands, with hands coming up to show empty palms.

“Beauregard…?” Clara whispers, as the color drains from her face.

“Mother.” Beau salutes, trying her best to keep her voice from shaking.

There is a long moment of silence, broken by Kiri’s quickening breaths and the howling of the wind outside.

As Beau is preparing to do something very stupid that she feels she might regret, more footsteps start to approach from the end of the hall.

“Madam?” they hear one of the maids say. “Have you found him?”

Beau and her mother stare at each other, studying the features of one another, so similar and yet so different.

Finally, Clara clears her voice.

Her eyes never leave Beau’s, as she steels herself, straightens her spine and says: “I have. My… son is asleep in Kiri’s room. No one is to disturb him for the time being.”

Clara takes a last, long look at Beau, her lips tilting in a sad smile, before the woman backs out and closes the door behind her. The lock clicks from the outside.

Holding her breath, Beau quietly steps closer to the door, pressing her ear against the wood to listen.

“No one is to walk in this room without my permission. The children need to rest.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Please inform the rest of the staff as well. Kiri’s room is not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Is Jaden hanging the new paintings?”   
“As we speak, madam.”

“Show me, then.”

The footsteps get further and further away, and after half a minute of anxious waiting, Beau turns around.

TJ is standing behind Kiri, fingers clutched around his sister’s doll. His eyes are trained over Kiri, who is shaking silently, eyes shut.

Beau is in front of her in an instant.

“Let’s play, Kiri.” she says, quickly. “You and me, our secret game.”

Kiri murmurs something to herself, nodding.

Beau places her palm against Kiri’s chest, and her sister takes a deep breath in.

“That’s right. That’s one.” Beau smiles, encouraging. She looks up at TJ and extends her free hand towards him. He immediately takes it, moving closer to press his body against Beau’s side.

“Two. Good girl, Kiri.” Beau says, her entire being straining to keep a calm voice, to not let the panic shine through. She wraps her arm around TJ’s small frame, with her hand on his tummy. TJ’s hand grabs hers, anchoring them to one another. 

“Let’s show TJ how it’s done. Three.”

Kiri hiccups a small giggle, and she briefly looks up to meet her siblings’ eyes.

After she exhales, Beau looks at TJ, and nods at him.

“Four.”

Together, all three of the Lionett kids take a deep breath, exhaling then as one.

Beau sits with her back against the window sill, quietly watching as Kiri and TJ run around the room, laughing their heads off to whatever game they’ve invented.

After avoiding what could’ve been a nasty panic attack, Kiri seems to behave like nothing has ever happened at all.

Beau is surprised, more than anything, and worried. Kiri is more aware of the situation than she’s ever given her credit for, and Beau worries as to how her day-to-day life might be affected.

On the other hand, TJ seems to be a perfectly healthy and smart child: he doesn’t appear to be noticing the developmental issues within his sister, looking at her and following her lead like any younger brother would. Or if he does, he simply does not care.

They look very happy together, but Beau can’t shake the horrible feeling she’s felt when they had briefly mentioned Thoreau Senior.

Whether or not TJ is the favorite child, and Beau has no doubt he is, their father scares him just like he does his daughters.

It’s simply not right.

Beau smiles at the two kids when they wave at her from underneath the pile of stuffies, as she tilts her head to look at TJ.

It’s uncanny, how similar he is to both Kiri and herself.

She and Kiri have always been tremendously different: Kiri had taken more from their father, with dark black hair, paler skin and green eyes. Beau had always been her mother’s exact copy, with dark, olive skin and striking blue eyes.

But TJ… TJ looks like neither and he looks like both of them at once.

His skin is as dark as Beau, and his hair matches his older sister’s to perfection. But his eyes are identical to Kiri’s, and his frame and body are small and lean like his kid sister’s.

There is a clear influence of how their parents expect the children to present, as well, Beau notices. TJ is elegantly outfitted in dress pants and dress shirt, while Kiri wears a flowery dress with leggins underneath. Just those three items of clothing, Beau suspects, are probably as expensive as her month’s rent.

But the children, despite the household they’re growing up in, seem to be good natured, well behaved and easily entertained.

Beau knows that Kiri is a wonderful child, who likes to play with dolls, stuffies and mini cars. She’s seen her nearly every weekend since she’s left. 

What she doesn’t expect, and what she’d never really even hoped for, is to see how good, how  _ normal  _ her little brother seems to be. He also likes to play with dolls and stuffies, a pastime that Beau doubts he’s often allowed to endure.

Beau snorts as TJ trips over a stuffed bear, faceplanting into the pile of toys. Kiri hiccups for how much she’s laughing, and Beau’s heart soars.

She fishes her phone out of her pockets and opens the camera.

_ Almost _ , she tells herself as she snaps a picture after the other.  _ We’re almost there. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More backstory! More lore! Let me know what you think! CHRISTMAS IS APPROACHING!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yasha's first day and Beau has a heart to heart.  
> Un-beta'd as usual LOL

Chapter Ten  


Yasha arrives at  _ Hello Bees _ an hour too early.

Too anxious to risk tardiness, she wakes up at the crack of dawn, spends almost twenty minutes trying to figure out a somewhat professional look and realizes she doesn’t own much else except for ripped jeans and worn out shirts.

She ends up sighing and picking her beloved AC/DC tee from the pile of clean clothes and tossing it on, hoping that Fjord and this unknown other employer Caduceus don’t mind too much about her wardrobe.

Once she stops in front of the closed shop’s door, though, realizes it’s definitely too early for her to start. The lights are all off inside, and she can barely see whether or not anyone is even in.

She sighs, scratching the back of her neck, unsure on what to do.

Luckily, before she can start to panic too much, someone taps on her shoulder.

Yasha turns around to meet a pair of gentle looking eyes and a flowing mass of long, pink hair.

“Are you here to buy flowers?” the person asks her.

Yasha stares, for a little bit longer than what is considered to be polite, before shaking herself out of her reverie.

“No, uh… I’m, I’m working here.”

The individual smiles the happiest of smiles, and claps their hands together.

“Oh! Fjord hired someone, then!” they say, chuckling to themselves. They extend a hand. “I’m Caduceus, the co-owner of the shop.”

Yasha blinks, rapidly, grabbing Caduceus’ hand for a quick squeeze. She remembers Fjord and Beau talking about this guy, and she is quite taken aback: he is nothing like what she’s imagined.

“You… You didn’t know I was coming?” she asks, confused and worried. Maybe she’d understood wrong. Maybe she isn’t supposed to start today, and she’s just made a fool of herself in front of her colleague and boss and…

“Well, I was at my sister’s for the weekend.” Caduceus says, happily, gesturing for her to follow him in the now open store. “Come on in.”

Yasha hesitates for just a moment, before stepping through the threshold.

Caduceus flips the lights, humming to himself, and Yasha stops nervously at the entrance, not knowing what to do with herself.

Once all the lights are on and the cash register is plugged and running, Caduceus looks up at her.

“Oh, hey.” he says, almost like he’s forgotten she was there. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Yasha trudges through the shop, rounding the counter and stopping next to Caduceus. She looks at him, helplessly.

“You look nervous.” he says, with a hint of surprise in his voice.

“I am nervous.” Yasha admits, playing with one of her braids and lowering her gaze to the floor. Nervous doesn’t even begin to explain the anxiety bubbling from her stomach and into her chest.

“Why?”

Yasha shrugs.

“It’s a good job. My first full-time job.” she whispers. Caduceus seems like a really good person, and the gentleness of his tone makes Yasha want to trust him immediately. “I feel like I might really like it, and I don’t want to screw it up.”

Caduceus hums, and when Yasha looks up, he’s nodding to himself.

“Makes sense.” he says, pensively.

There’s a long, stretched out moment of silence, in which Yasha wonders whether or not she’s going to get fired on the spot just for speaking her mind, but then Caduceus presses a button on the cash register and the drawer shoots open. He kneels on the floor and opens a cupboard with his set of keys. He then proceeds to insert the combination for the safe, and grabs an envelope full of cash from inside the box.

“How about you start counting the cash…” he says as he stands, holding the envelope out to Yasha. “And putting it in the register. And I’ll go make ourselves some tea.”

Yasha looks at the envelope she’s holding, then back at Caduceus, who’s looking at her with a calm, encouraging smile.

“Tea sounds nice.” she whispers, a bit choked up.

Caduceus nods.

“Yeah. Tea is nice.” he echoes.

He then gives her a pat on her back and walks away, whistling a somber tune.

After she’s done counting the cash, Caduceus shows her how to record the start of day journal entry, then invites her to sit down with him behind the counter.

He offers her a tea in a ceramic tea cup that Yasha is terrified of breaking. It has flowers and little buttons to decorate it, and it looks almost hand made.

“That is Veth’s cup,” Caduceus tells her. “Jester painted all of our cups. We’ll have to get you one as well.”

“Is Veth fine with me borrowing her cup?” Yasha asks, not wanting to cross any boundary.

Caduceus nods with his never changing smile.

“Absolutely. Enjoy.”

As Yasha takes a sip of her tea, a strong, sweet aroma hits her nostrils, right before the lightly flavored beverage fills her mouth.

Her eyes widen just slightly.

“It’s delicious.” she exclaims before she can stop herself.

Caduceus hums.

“You seemed like the type to enjoy vanilla black tea.” he explains. “So I added some honey and clover to that.”

Yasha licks her lips, bringing the cup back to her lips to grab another long, warming sip.

“This is the best tea I’ve ever had.” she says, honestly. She doesn’t know what it is, if it’s the tea itself or the comforting presence of this strange man, but her shoulders relax and she manages to catch a deep, full breath.

“Thank you.” Caduceus says. “I can try a couple different combinations for you, but for now I’ll prep a box with this one.”

Yasha stares at him.

“You  _ made  _ this yourself?” she ask. “You were gone for just five minutes.”

Caduceus nods, then points at one of the higher shelves behind the counter.

Yasha looks up to see a few different wooden boxes. Seven, to be specific, all of them with a single name scribbled on the front.

Yasha sees Fjord’s name, followed by Beau’s, Jester’s, Molly’s, Veth’s and finally Caleb’s. Caduceus box sits on the counter next to his elbow, and Yasha stares at her own tea in disbelief.

“I make teas for our friends.” Caduceus says, happily. “Which reminds me, I have to start the water for Fjord’s. He will be here soon.”

Yasha stares as this tall, gentle giant of a man stands, collecting Fjord’s tea box with delicate hands and disappears in the backroom.

Caduceus shows her Fjord’s tea before brewing it. He explains to her that Fjord likes Chinese green tea mixed with matcha and sencha, which gives it a seaweed-like flavour. Caduceus warms up the water, removing it before it reaches the boiling point, and pours it in Fjord’s cup, which is a taller travel mug with silly faces drawn all over it.

By the time the tea is ready, Fjord walks through the front door, to Yasha’s uttermost surprise.

Fjord laughs at the sight: the two of them sitting behind the counter surrounded by tea boxes. Caduceus, excited by Yasha’s curiosity, had shown her all his friend’s teas and encouraged her to take a sniff at all of them.

“I see you’ve met Cad.” Fjord says as he grabs his tea and takes a long sip. “I thought you were supposed to start in half an hour, Yasha.”

Just like that, with a few innocent words, Yasha’s anxiety spikes back up.

She stands, awkwardly, opening and closing her mouth, not really knowing what to say.

Caduceus places a hand on her arm and smiles.

“There is nothing wrong, friend.” he says. “No reason to worry. I’ve deeply enjoyed your company.”

Fjord places his bag on the counter, nodding.

“I’m sorry, Yasha.” he says, sounding apologetic. “I didn’t mean to make ya nervous, or anythin’. We are very happy to see you and excited for you to start.”

Fjord gestures to the shop.

“I wanted you to start later, today, just because I hadn’t had the chance to tell Caduceus we hired you. He was away the whole weekend, and he came straight here from his sister’s place.”

Caduceus nods to himself, as he starts to clean up.

“And he doesn’t have a phone.” Fjord adds, with affection and exasperation mixed together.

Caduceus laughs, and disappears in the back of the shop.

Yasha clutches her tea cup, way too small for her big hands, and shuffles her weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m sorry.” she says, not really knowing what she’s apologizing for.

For being so awkward, maybe? For never knowing what to say? Possible.

But Fjord shakes his head.

“You have literally nothing to apologize for.”

He takes another sip of tea, hums contentedly and tilts his head toward the back room.

“Come. The delivery truck will be here soon. I’m happy to say I will let you do all the heavy lifting.”

Caduceus laughs from the adjacent room, and Yasha smiles. She can’t really help it. The nervousness is slowly stepping aside, leaving room for excitement and a lot of hope.

Fjord ends up unloading the truck with her, and Yasha is nothing if not happy to be putting her strength to good use.

They both show her where everything goes, which dirt sits on which shelf, and which plant needs to be carefully placed nearer or further away from the window.

Yasha commits every detail to memory.

She works hard, she listens with rapt attention to everything Fjord and Caduceus say. They have tremendous knowledge of every plant and flower that lands in their hands, and by the time the store opens to the public Yasha knows every single corner of the back room.

They take her to the front of the store to learn how to interact with the customers, and Yasha waits half a step behind them while they talk with this or that new person.

They always make sure to introduce her to the customers, letting them know that she’s their new employee, training to take over for whenever they’re not around.

The customers, many of whom, Yasha notices, seem to be regulars of the shop, are very excited to meet her, and Yasha is quickly taken aback by the happy, warm vibe that seems to surround everyone she interacts with.

It’s like she’s stepped in a different dimension, where everyone is nice, patient and understanding and not at all scared by her presence. It’s offputting to say the least.

_ Hello Bees _ ‘s clientele is mainly young, and quite diverse, and Yasha realizes that a store like this probably survives thanks to regular shoppers and affection-filled word of mouth.

By the time lunch rolls around, Yasha’s whole being is buzzing in excitement and wonder.

They close the shop for half an hour, but even as they’re sitting around the counter to enjoy a wonderful salad Caduceus has put together in the back room, Fjord gets up to answer the door for a customer in need of a last minute purchase.

Yasha observes how Fjord and Caduceus work, how much effort they put into every single customer, and she sees through their actions how much they love their job.

Caduceus and Fjord work very well together, too. Caduceus’ wisdom is shared through nature metaphors and cryptic statements, while Fjord’s charisma supplies and somewhat compensates for the amount of terrible jokes he comes up with way too often.

Yasha doesn’t really see how she fits into all of this, nor what Fjord -and apparently Caduceus- seem to see in her.

But she is encouraged by their words of support, and before the day ends, Fjord pushes her forward to greet one of the customers.

Yasha stammers through her words, and glances behind her shoulder to see Fjord throwing both his thumbs up at her.

But her customer is patient and, judging by the smile on their face, quite amused by her awkwardness. Yasha manages to stumble through the conversation with increasing confidence, and she ends up selling a bouquet of lilacs for the customer’s mother.

Yasha stares at the customer as they walk out the door with their purchase, and as Fjord claps a hand on her shoulder, a small, happy smile spreads across her face.

***

Fjord calls her at the end of his shift.

Beau has to wedge her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she tries her best not to let all her books fall flat on the ground.

“Sup.”

Fjord whoops on the other end and Beau grins.

It’s something they do, sometimes. Beau doesn’t really enjoy phone conversations, but her and Fjord have grown increasingly closer in the past few months, and he likes to call her and put her on speaker as he swipes the floors of the shop. It gives him something to do with his mind, to make his job a bit more bearable.

Although loving his store, Fjord doesn’t particularly enjoy the cleaning side of his responsibilities.

“How was your weekend?” he asks.

Beau places  _ Gideon the Ninth _ back on the shelf, then shrugs as she moves to the next isle of the library.

“Usual. Nothing special.” she lies.

None of her friends know about her family, and although she’s been happy to keep that side of her life hidden from them for years, lately she’s been feeling bad about lying to them.

“What about you? How was… How was work today?”

She stops in the middle of the isle, cringing for how fake and desperate she sounds.

“Uh-uh.  _ Yasha’s  _ first day went great, thank you for asking.” Fjord says, amused.

Beau groans.

“I didn’t- That’s not what I asked.”

Fjord snorts.

“Beau. I might be as dense as a brick, but I ain’t blind.” he says. “What the  _ fuck _ , dude?!”

There’s no judgment in his tone, only curiosity, care and happiness. Beau knows he wants her to succeed, he wants her to be happy, and she knows she can’t avoid the conversation any longer.

“I don’t know, man.” She sighs. “I’ve known her for a few months. We were just fucking at the beginning, yenno? She’s so damn hot, and we literally-”

“Don’t need the details, Beau.”

“Right. Sorry. I mean. Anyway.” She chuckles, nervously, and clears her voice. “We were just fuckbuddies, or something. Then we started hanging out, and she’s funny, you know? She’s stupidly hot, you’ve seen so yourself. But she’s sweet, and funny.”

There’s a moment of silence, in which Beau can only hear the sweeping of hardwood floors.

“And you like her.”

Beau stops in the middle of the sci-fi section. She shifts all her books on one arm and clutches her phone with her now free hand.

She swallows, then nods.

“Yeah. I like her a lot.”

Fjord, on the other side, releases an almost surprised, happy gasp.

“Oh.” he says, voice low, almost like he’s afraid to break that important moment. A moment when Beau, for the first time since they’ve known each other, seems to be open and honest about her feelings. Spontaneous, almost.

“Yeah.” She exhales.

“Dude, that’s awesome, though. Why don’t you-”

“No.”

Beau interrupts him before he can say anything, before he can suggest hopeful thoughts to Beau’s already overcrowded, overthinking mind.

“No, Fjord, she…” she stops, sighs, then continues. “She has her own shit to deal with. And I don’t want to be anyone’s rebound. I can’t do that to her, nor to me.”

Fjord is quiet for a long, pensive moment.

“I don’t know her story, Beau.” He ends up saying, quietly. Beau leans against one of the shelves. The sweeping sound has stopped, and she suspects Fjord is probably trying his best to give her his full attention. She appreciates it. “But she seems like a really amazing fucking person.”

Beau closes her eyes, trying her best to keep the lump in her throat where it is.

“Both Caduceus and I agreed on it. She was fantastic today at the store. She’s a hard worker, a stupidly strong lifter, too, and the way she walked around... “

Fjord sighs and Beau can picture him shaking his head.

“She seems so gentle with everything she touches. And you’re right. She  _ is  _ funny.”

Beau turns to press her forehead against one of the metal shelves, squeezing her eyes.

“Fjord…” she warns, her voice barely audible.

“I’m just sayin’, Beau.” Fjord murmurs. “You looked so happy around her, on Friday. I’ve never seen you like that, and I’ve only watched you guys interact for a few minutes. If what you’ve told me is true, and you’ve really known her for a few months, then…”

Fjord stops.

“What?” Beau encourages when he doesn’t speak up again.

“Well…” he seems hesitant, at first, but something must push him to talk, because he sighs once more and continues: “We’ve all noticed how much more open you’ve been, lately. How lighter you’ve been, how happier. No one said anything, of course, ‘cause we were afraid that if we did, you woulda gone back to your secretive self.”

Beau feels a pang of guilt in her chest.

She knows he’s right.

She’s never been forthcoming towards her friends. Actually, that’s the understatement of the century. She's not just secretive. She is completely shut out of their world. They know what is necessary to know, and the details they’ve gathered about her have been on a need to know basis. The Nein have known her for years, and Christmas is going to be the first time they set foot in her apartment, for fuck’s sake.

Because of her life, of her family, and what had happened when she’d left, Beau has always preferred to keep her business as such: her own. She loves the Nein; they’ve been her friends for so long, she couldn’t imagine a life without them. But she’s always been so scared of losing them, of losing the only family that she’s got left, that she’d just avoided letting them in altogether.

“I’m sorry.” She manages to whisper, and she feels choked up.

Fjord hums.

“It’s okay, mate. Really. We don’t know what the fuck happened to you, but all we ever really wanted was for you to feel safe with us, and happy. We still want that, it hasn’t changed.”

“I know.” Beau says, as she means it. “I know.”

Fjord moves around, and the sweeping sounds resume.

“We’re just happy you’re opening up now.” he says. “So whatever kind of effect Yasha is having on you, well… We love it.”

Beau can feel the laugh in his tone, and she swallows once more, successfully ridding herself of that awful lump in her throat.

“Thanks, Fjord.”

Fjord chuckles.

“That’s what your Captain’s for, First Mate.”

At that, Beau can’t help but laugh.

It’s so stupid.

For Caleb’s birthday, last year, they’d all gone to a local pub and paid a DM to run a Dungeons & Dragons game for them. They’d played a oneshot full of pirate adventures and sea creatures, and Fjord has been nominated the Captain because of his character’s background. Beau had of course been elected as First Mate, and everyone else had followed suit with various nicknames are roles that had stuck.

It’s one of the reasons why Caleb is still recorded as  _ HoboWizard  _ on Beau's phone.

Beau takes a deep breath in, then admits: “I’ve invited Yasha over for Christmas.”

Fjord releases another surprised noise, then starts laughing.

“Then I recommend you talk to Jester sooner rather than later.” He tells her. “She’s been trying to gather as many details as she possibly can, and she will press for more once she finds out I’ve talked to you.”

Beau groans.

She loves Jester. She loves her more than anything else, she’s her best friend and no one understands her like she does.

But this conversation is not one that she is eager to repeat. It’s been hard enough once already.

She knows she has to. She knows that, deep down, she wants to tell Jester about Yasha.

“Ugh, I know.”

“I really don’t want to be the one spilling the tea, man.”

“Then don’t!”

“You know I can’t lie to Jester to save my life!”

Beau mimics the sound of a whip, which only makes Fjord scoff in response.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, first.”

There’s a stretched out moment of silence, long enough for Beau to grimace.

“And you made it weird.” Fjord mutters.

“Fuck you,” Beau repeats. “I know. Just. Just go. I thought you had a store to clean.”

Fjord snickers.

He says his goodbyes and Beau opens her chat with Jester immediately after he hangs up.

> Beau: Meet me for coffee tomorrow?

She doesn’t even have the time to put the phone away, that Jester responds with three lines of emojis, followed by a simple text.

> Jes <3: YAS!

Beau slips her phone back in her pocket. She goes back to her books, and she does so with a smile on her face.

***

Yasha gets to work on Tuesday morning to find a box with her name on it sitting on the top shelf behind the counter, and a steaming new cup sitting on the table.

Her mug has many different flowers painted all over the ceramic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEMME KNOOOOW!  
> Thank you to the BY discord for brainstorming with me on which teas to use.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the beginning of it, this is not really a light chapter.  
> Also a shorter one, but it's necessary.  
> Not beta'd.

Chapter Eleven

Beau places the Starbucks cup on the table, right in front of Jester’s expecting hands.

The other girl immediately rids it of the lid, dipping her tongue in the double whipped cream. Beau leans back on her chair, observing her best friend with a half smile and waiting for the explosion.

Jester looks up at her, presses her lips together and then focuses back on the cup.

“It’s such a nice day, today.” Beau prompts, desperately trying not to laugh.

She can see it written all over Jester’s face, how much the girl is struggling to keep it together. Beau suspects Fjord is behind all that, because Jester is clearly trying not to burst in a word vomit of questions, and that only means one of her friends must’ve talked her out of it.

Jester nods, busing herself with her latte. Her eyes dart to Beau’s face and then onto the whipped cream again.

“Is everything okay, Jester?” Beau asks, trying to sound as innocent and unaware as possible.

Jester nods again, eyes wide.

“YEAH. Yup. Peachy. Soooo good!” she squeals in a way too high pitched tone.

Beau takes a deep breath, realizing how hard it is to keep it together. She considers dragging it along for a bit longer, just to see how much Jester can last, but then decides against it.

She  _ does  _ want to talk about it with Jester, after all. She can’t  _ wait _ , actually.

“So…” she says then. “About Yasha-”

“OH, my, GODS,  _ Beau _ .” Jester interrupts, slamming both palms on the wooden table and causing half a dozen people to turn and look at them. Beau shoots all of them a homicidal glare before focusing back on her best friend.

Who is, in every way imaginable, looking like she might burst out of her own skin.

“Do you have any  _ idea  _ how much I’ve tried to keep it together?” Jester rambles, eyes shining in excitement. “But then Fjord was all secretive and Caleb said he didn’t need dirty details but Caddy made me paint her a mug in half a day so  _ clearly  _ she’s a keeper but then Molly was all like  _ stop bugging Beau, Jester _ , and I uuuuuuuuuuugh,  _ Beau _ ! I need to know!”

Beau barely contains a laugh, concealing her amusement behind her own Starbucks.

Something Jester’s said makes her heart squeeze painfully in her chest.

Molly had tried to dissuade Jester from investigating any further, and he’d done it even after Beau had so blatantly ignored his message.

She sighs, putting her cup back on the table. She really needs to make it up to him.

Her fingers reach for her bagel, starting to pick at it.

“I know you do.” she says, lightly. She winks at Jester. “So, what do you wanna know?”

Jester scoffs, slamming her elbows on the table and plopping her chin onto her palms.

“Absolutely  _ everything _ .”

Her eyes glimmer in mirth, and Beau can’t help but laugh and tell her, well… Absolutely everything.

Jester, to her credit, listens very quietly and attentively, as Beau recounts the whole story for her, just like she did for Fjord, but with added, juicy details.

“The things she does with those fingers, Jester, like, what the  _ fuck- _ ”

To which Jester giggles and responds with enthusiastic “Uh-uh”s and “Ooooooh”s that make Beau smile and her heart swell.

Jester only speaks up to ask for more details or for clarifications.

Beau is more than happy to answer those questions, but she keeps part of the story vague: her friends don’t know about the Fight Club, and she wants to keep it that way. She needs to keep it that way, at least for a while longer. So she lies, and when Jester asks her where she and Yasha have met, she tells her that they’ve sparred at the gym where Beau goes to train.

It’s not completely false: they have sparred, and they have fought, and Beau does still go to the gym to train and help Dairon out with the kids’ classes.

She feels bad lying to Jester, but she knows she has to, if she wants to keep her safe.

At the end of her story, Jester nods, pensively, and casually reaches out to grab a piece of Beau’s bagel.

“So like, you two haven’t fucked in a while.” she double checks, to which Beau nods. “But you’ve mentioned you kissed recently?”

Beau sighs.

“Last week, yeah.”

Jester kicks her from under the table.

“And you want to tell me that she doesn’t like you that way?!”

Beau groans and ducks to massage her poor shin, shooting a glare toward her best friend.

“It’s more complicated than that, Jes.” she mutters. “Yasha has her own shit to deal with, her own past and history. I don’t think she’s emotionally available, right now.”

Beau  _ knows  _ Yasha is not emotionally available, but she can’t explain that to Jester, not without telling her about Zuala. And that is most definitely not her story to tell.

Jester wiggles on her chair, pouting.

“But she kissed you!”

Beau shrugs.

“She was just very happy that our staged fight worked out well, and she got carried away, I guess. It’s always been only physical for her.”

Jester crosses her arms, looking tremendously upset and involved for someone who has never even met Yasha.

“I don’t get why you guys stage fights during training…” she says, to which Beau’s blood goes suddenly very cold. “But honestly, anyone would be lucky to have you, Beau. Maybe you’re just misinterpreting things. Maybe she does want you in that way.”

Beau nods, swallowing the bile that has risen at Jester’s previous and luckily already forgotten comment.

“Listen, I- I know. Like. Maybe I am. But what if I’m not? What if I’m actually right. We have a good friendship, and I can’t ruin that.”

Jester enflates, looking almost ready to spew out another argument, but Beau raises her hand.

“Either way,” she precedes her. “I’ve gotten her a job with the guys, and I’ve invited her over for Christmas. Whatever happens, it has to come from her. Ball’s in her court, and if she doesn’t feel like throwing it back then… We’ll know.”

Jester seems torn.

Beau can see it in her eyes, on her face, how much she’s excited at the idea of having Yasha with them for Christmas. Beau knows she’ll have to set some boundaries for everyone regarding Yasha.

On the other hand, Jester appears genuinely upset. And looking like she’s trying to hold something back.

“What, Jes?” Beau prompts.

Jester chews on her lips, before shaking her hair and sitting straight on her chair.

“Just… Don’t give up, okay?” she pleads, with honest concern in her eyes. “You seem very happy, Beau. Everyone’s noticed that. We only want your happiness, and if Yasha is that happiness, then we’re all here for it. But…”

Beau raises an eyebrow. Something tells her she’s not going to like whatever Jester’s about to say.

“But?”

Jester sighs. Her hand reaches for Beau’s, and she squeezes it gently.

“But you have to be here for it, too. No more running, okay?”

Beau feels the sudden urge to stand, swallow the lump in her throat and go hide in the public washroom of the Starbucks.

It prickles her skin, what Jester has just said, which only proves her best friend’s point.

Instead, Beau nods, squeezes Jester’s hand in return and murmurs: “‘Kay.”

***

Yasha’s opponent is  _ massive _ .

He is at least one foot taller than she is, which is already saying a lot. He hasn’t been around much, but Yasha knows not to underestimate him: she’s watched him almost knock Beauregard unconscious two weeks ago, and Beau had gotten out of the cage alive only because of her speed and quick reflexes.

Unfortunately, Yasha isn’t as fast as Beau.

Her tactic has always been brute force and well placed hits.

And now, with this mountain of a man who seems to bounce back after every punch, Yasha finds herself in trouble.

The fight has been going on for a few minutes already, and Yasha knows that the longer they drag it out, the easier it will be for either of them to make a mistake. The best fights are always short and effective.

They’re both getting tired.

Yasha feels a drop of sweat trickling down her forehead and down her cheekbone. She collects it with the tip of her tongue, moving slowly to her right.

Her opponent waits, hands in front of his face, patiently.

Yasha studies him for a full lap around the cage, attempting a couple steps forward, to which the man matches a few of his own.

They get closer, and closer still, neither of them moving too far forward.

Then, finally, his eyes dart for a quick second to the crowd on his left side, and Yasha leaps.

Taking advantage of his blind side, she steps forward and right, diagonally, bringing her whole body flush with his as she barrels in with a right hook.

Her fist meets the hard of his right forearm, getting blocked, and as Yasha meets his eyes through a tangle of limbs, she realizes she’s been played.

The man crosses his other arm underneath them, grabbing her left shoulder, while he holds onto her offending hand with his right.

He sidesteps, using the weight of his body to turn her around, and Yasha feels herself falling, completely caught by surprise.

She barely has the time to prepare herself for the blow before her whole body slams to the ground, left arm trapped under her torso and right arm twisted unnaturally behind her back.

The crowd’s howls are not loud enough to cover her scream of pain, as her opponent places a sweaty and dirty foot between her shoulder blades and uses his whole form to pull her arm backwards.

Blocked on the ground, with her left arm stuck underneath her and the muscles and bones and ligaments and tendons of her right shoulders straining not to give in, Yasha’s pupils blow as she cries out in pain. 

It’s burning, and it’s stabbing, and it feels like this guy is actively trying to rip her arm out of its socke-

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

Well, of course.

Yasha squeezes her eyes shut, as cold shivers of fear and pain run down her spine.

She can’t. She can’t. She can’t do it…

She clenches her teeth, her jaw hurting from the amount of force with which she’s biting through her own pain.

What she can’t do is lose. There is too much money involved and too much at stakes.

Because Obann is watching.

Obann is already suspecting she’s not focused enough.

And if she loses…

So the answer, really, is simple.

She needs to free the left arm from underneath her, but she has no way of doing so with this guy pressing on her back to try and get her to tap out.

He knows he’s pretty much won.

But Yasha has known pain. Pain so burning and searing that this pales in comparison.

She ignores the tears streaming down her cheeks, and takes a deep breath.

Yasha tunes out the crowd. 

She breathes in…

Then  _ slams  _ her right side downward, and the bone of her upper arm pops right out of its pocket in an explosion of pure, flaming agony.

The pain shoots up her arm and straight to her spine, as the horrified and at once ecstatic screams of the crowd work as a wake up call.

Her right arm goes limp, and the space she created between herself and the dirty floor is enough to sneak her left arm out from underneath her body.

She feels her opponent stumble, having lost his footing on her back and his hold on a now completely useless arm.

Yasha chokes down on a sob, rolling on her good arm to get herself in a supine position; from there, she can see the surprised and mildly scared look on her adversary’s face.

But at this point, she’s not even thinking straight anymore. The pain in her shoulder is throbbing, keeping her alive and standing, and the adrenaline rushing through her veins is intoxicating, an eerie reminder of another kind of surge, another kind of high.

Yasha stumbles on her knee, and then she’s standing. She’s advancing, and her opponent is so surprised that it takes him a second to realize what’s about to happen.

It’s a second too late, though, as Yasha slams into him, transferring all her weight onto him and striking him straight into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of his pipes. 

The guy gags and gasps for air, his knees giving in, his body doubling over.

He doesn’t fall, though.

Yasha makes sure of that.

Blinded by pain and rage and fear, she clutches the guy’s hair, holding him in front of her with her only good arm.

She meets his eyes, the same way he’d done with her a few seconds before. The crowd screams are deafening, and Yasha sees terror in his eyes,

She swallows a lump of bile, tears and blood, and lets him go.

He falls on the ground, sputtering blood and tapping repeatedly on the floor with his palm, and the people around them explode in a cacophony of cheers and exalted celebrations.

Yasha breathes in, heavily, choking on her own sobs, clutching her arm with shaky fingers.

They take her to the floor medics immediately.

She is barely holding herself standing, but she manages to stumble through the crowd and slump on one of the chairs without puking all over herself.

Yasha feels weakness seeping through her bones, and the nausea is almost overpowering, but she sits and tilts her head back for a moment, taking a deep breath in.

She nods to the medic, not really hearing their words, and tries her best to blink away the haze.

They tell her to sit straight, and as she does that, she sees Obann’s figure emerging from the shadows, approaching from the darker side of the massive room.

The crowd is already distracted by the new fight, and Yasha is grateful. She can’t deal with both fans and Obann together, while trying to get her shoulder back in place.

She faintly registers the medics talking amongst themselves, and when she blinks next, she finds a pair of eyes staring back at her from the crowd.

As Beau pushes people aside, concern and horror written all over her perfect features, Yasha feels more awake than ever.

She straightens up, glancing at Obann, who has been momentarily held back by gods know who, and then back at Beau, who has almost made it out of the sea of people and is trying to get to her.

She shakes her head, as subtly as she can.There is no way in hell that Beau can get any closer to Obann. Not again, not now.

Yasha doesn’t know if the fear can be read clearly on her face, or if Beau gets the hint by something else entirely.

But when Obann frees himself and finally reaches her, Yasha looks over in the crowd, and Beau is gone.

***

It’s the last fight before the holidays. Everyone is throwing in more money than usual specifically for that reason.

Beau knows how important it is for her to win, tonight more than usual.

But she can’t focus.

Her whole body is vibrating, anxiety filling her lungs and worry flowing through her veins.

Her brain keeps repeating the horrific images she’d just witnessed from the back of the room, of Yasha falling, of Yasha being pinned down, of Yasha voluntarily dislocating her own shoulder in order to get free and then win the fight.

Beau had wanted to run inside the cage first, and towards Yasha after.

She’d almost done the latter.

Only Yasha’s tiniest head shake had prevented her from doing so.

Beau knows there’s very little that can scare Yasha, and the pure, unbridled  _ terror  _ she’d read in her eyes had been enough to dissuade her.

But now, as the guy in front of her dances in and out of her range, Beau almost wishes she’d thrown the fight and gone to her.

She knows it’s stupid. She knows Yasha can take care of herself and she definitely knows this is part of their job, if they can even call it that.

But she can’t help but worry, and wonder if-

The punch catches her completely by surprise, splitting her lip and making her head jerk backwards.

Beau stumbles a few feet, groaning in pain as she presses her palm against her lip.

“Shit.” she growls.

The guy in front of her smirks, almost surprised from having managed to land a hit so quickly.

Beau licks her lip, collecting the blood from both inside and outside her mouth, then spits it to the side. Oh, the audience loves  _ that _ .

“A’ight, motherfucker.” Beau murmurs.

Because there’s no way she’s going to remain focused on this fight, and she really has no time for a man’s bullshit.

So she throws the performance to the ground, she takes the matter into her own hands, and does what she does best.

Almost like dancing, she steps forward, backwards, then forward again, throwing her opponent off and on his guard. She leaves herself open, and like an idiot, the guy falls for it.

Emboldened by his previous successful hit, he goes for a cross to her waist, and finds Beau ready.

She merely has to tap his wrist to the side, rotating her hips so that his strike goes completely wide. She twists her own hand, grabbing onto his forearm and jerking him towards her.

He falls, and she’s quick to envelope her arms around his head, fingers crossed behind his neck.

Beau tightens her Thai clinch and brings his body down, making his nose get acquainted with the hard of her knee.

Her opponent goes limp in her hold, and Beau lets go.

Any other night, she might have stayed, raised her arms to the screaming crowd and basked in the glory.

Tonight she spits another lump of blood to the ground and walks out, grabbing her hoodie from where she left it four minutes ago, then disappears in the mass of people.

She looks for Yasha everywhere.

She knows she has to be careful, because this guy Obann seems to have people everywhere. And of course Beau doesn’t want to risk her own life, nor Yasha’s.

So she tiptoes around the lower level of the Villa, glancing around with the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up on her head.

She knows how to move amongst these people, the majority of them intoxicated by expensive liquor or even more luxurious drugs. It’s one of the circles of hell, Beau is sure of it, and she’s in it over her head. But she’s lived in it for way too long, and she’s way too used to it.

Which is why when a hand shoots out of the darkness and grabs onto her, pulling her to the side, she’s completely caught by surprise.

Her fist reacts on instinct, and it’s only because of Yasha’s quick reflexes that she doesn’t break her nose on the spot.

“Woha, it’s me.”

Horrified, Beau grabs Yasha’s face in her palms, turning it on each side to check for damage.

“Shit,  _ fuck _ , Yasha!” she hisses, worried and still slightly in shock. “Warn a woman!”

Yasha chuckles to herself, and even in the darkness Beau can see the slight blush coloring her cheeks.

“I’m really sorry.” she murmurs. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Beau takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Ya think?!” she exclaims, feeling immediately guilty afterwards. She has just tried to smash her nose inside her skull, after all.

“I’m sorry.” Yasha repeats. “But Obann’s guys are hovering everywhere and I didn’t want to risk it. I figured… I figured it’s time I returned the favor and showed you something.”

Beau’s heart starts racing again, but for a different reason entirely. She realizes only now, once her eyes have adjusted to darkness, that they’re in a very poorly lit corridor, with signs pointing towards washrooms and a couple different other doors.

“You wanna show me something?” she asks, making sure to have understood correctly.

Yasha nods, then takes her hand with a small smile.

Beau follows her through mouldy corridors and doors and stairs. Yasha seems to know exactly where she is going, or at least Beau hopes she does, because there is no way she is going to be able to retrace their steps if she doesn’t.

They slip through near invisible openings in the walls, and up several flights of stairs. The light is pretty much non-existent, and Beau relies on Yasha in front of her in order not to slam into one of the concrete walls. Finally, after what feels like an hour, but it’s probably just five or so minutes of silent sneaking around, Yasha pushes a door open, sticks her head through the crack to check for something, then slips inside of it.

...Or outside, as Beau finds out once she follows Yasha through it.

Beau takes a tentative step on the wooden planks, watching how Yasha gingerly sits on them without a second thought.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights.” Yasha murmurs, tilting her head to invite Beau over.

Beau shakes her head, too in awe to say anything else.

In front of her, or better, below her, three or four stories underneath the scaffolding where Yasha is waiting, there’s the arena. The framework itself is pretty solid, running all across the upper walls of the massive room, through the middle and crossing onto the other side. Underneath the wood and metal panels they’re on, Beau sees the ballpark lights that usually illuminate the cage and the area around it. They’re white, blinding lights, and she understands how she’s never noticed the scaffolding above them: no one would be able to see beyond the lights, for how bright they are, if they were to look up from down below.

But them, on top of everything and everyone else, can see exactly what’s happening in the cage and among the crowd.

“I used to come here before I met you.” Yasha tells her, with a content expression on her face. “It is very quiet, and I enjoyed being alone.”

Beau doesn’t miss the past tense.

She carefully sits down, and then slides one leg after the other beyond the protection of the wood panel. Her feet dangle in nothing but empty space, and her heart gulps up to her throat at the feeling.

She is not scared of heights, but she’s never sat on top of the world like that.

“Fuck, Yash. This is amazing.” she breathes out, the first words she’s said since finding Yasha in the darkness, forty or so feet below where they are now.

Yasha hums, one hand squeezing the wood between them, and the other resting on her thighs.

Beau swallows, memories of the previous fight flooding her brain.

“How’s your arm?” she asks, quietly.

Yasha turns to look at her, and her expression is almost unreadable. Beau watches as she looks down at her arm, then back up at her.

“It’s… I’m in quite a bit of pain.” Yasha admits in a whisper.

Beau’s stomach drops and so must her face, because Yasha grabs her hand immediately.

“Beau, it’s okay-”

“It’s not.” Beau hisses. “It’s really not. You intentionally dislocated your own fucking shoulder, Yasha. And you’re here and not at a hospital?! It’s fucking ridiculous.”

Yasha squeezes her hand, and her expression turns desperate.

“Listen, I-I know. But I can’t go to a hospital, because I can’t afford the cost for whatever they’re going to do, and you know I couldn’t lose this fight. You, you can’t understand what it’s like.”

And Beau deflates. Her shoulders slump and her stomach settles back in its place, dropping even lower than before.

“I do…” she murmurs. “I actually do.”

Yasha sits still, eyes wide, and swallows.

“You… Do?”

Beau can only nod. She squeezes Yasha’s hand in return, and chuckles dryly to herself.

She’s never told this to anyone. But she has the awful feeling Yasha will understand all too well.

Because she does understand.

She knows what it means to gamble her life on these fights.

Those fuckers who are breaking teeth and kicking bones just below them are not too dissimilar. Their lives possibly depend on those fights, on that money. And if not their lives, the lives of those who are close to them.

So Beau takes a deep breath. She’s on top of the world, next to a woman she might very well be falling for, and she takes the leap.

“Did I… Did I ever tell you about my family?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! As usual, you know I live on comments!


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BEAUYASHA TO EVERYONE! This is just. Boy o boy. Do I feel inspired after last night's episode.  
> Regardless, here's part one of the holiday celebrations. Here is my gift to all of you, beautiful souls, who have been so patient with me in these past few months.  
> Lots of Yasha in this chapter, we'll see more of Beau's POV in the next.  
> Remember to leave a comment to let me know what you think!  
> Thank you Carly for looking over it!

Chapter Twelve

“You  _ dislocated  _ your shoulder?!  _ How _ ?!”

“I, I was sparring, and I… Fell badly on it.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry. Beau mentioned you two met at her gym, is that where it happened?”   
“...Yes. That is exactly where it happened.”

“Mhm. Between you and Beau, you should really pay more attention. Alright, are you sure you’re okay to work?”

“Of course.”   
“Just be careful, okay? I can help with deliveries today.”   
“I can lift a bag of dirt with one hand, Fjord.”   
“...You  _ had  _ to rub it in.”

“Just a little.”

“You’re  _ so  _ not getting that holiday bonus.”

The week preceding Christmas is a busy one.

Winter’s Crest and Hanukkah overlap right on the Monday, and Yasha walks into work with a steaming mug ready for her at the counter and Fjord and Caduceus already running around.

_ Hello Bees _ gets very busy right away, with a lot of customers coming in and out at every hour of the day. They sell a ridiculous amount of poinsettias before noon, and by the end of the day they only have one left.

They receive new deliveries every day, and Caduceus spends most of his time in the back room, tending to new plants and leaflings with care and love. Fjord is greeting every single customer with a smile and a happy word, and Yasha watches in awe how easily he seems to be able to strike conversations with his clients.

She tries to learn as best as she can from him, but the customers once again don't seem to mind when she’s the one helping them. She knows enough about flowers to direct people to the right choices, and everyone is always very grateful for the help.

On Winter’s Crest, the lady she helped on the first day, when she hadn’t even been working at  _ Hello Bees _ , comes back with a smile and a ‘thank you’ card for Yasha.

She stutters and blushes, and brings the card home, placing it on the windowsill of her one room apartment, right above the mattress she’s finally bought clean sheets for.

It’s not always smooth like glass, but luckily enough Fjord is ready to intervene when rude customers decide to make their way into the shop. Caduceus is way better at picking up her anxieties and worries, but Fjord seems to be paying close attention as well, because Yasha isn’t left to deal with difficult people for too long.

“Until you find your footing,” Fjord tells her after one of those interactions. “Just come and get me. I will deal with them. You’re doing great, Yasha.”

Caduceus tells her the same thing, almost every time he emerges from the back room to check in on his friends.

Every time, he looks around with a satisfied look on his face and nods to himself. He pats a hand on Fjord's shoulder then looks at Yasha and smiles.

“Good job, there.” he says. Or “Doing great, Yasha.”

And Yasha believes him. She believes the both of them, really.

Not only they both sound brutally honest, but she sees what she does, and she realizes how good she seems to be at it. Even when she accidentally screws up, she’s quick at finding a solution, or admitting to herself or the customers she actually does not know the answer to their question. She relies on Fjord and Caduceus, asking for help when she needs it, trusting that they’ll always deliver it, and step by step, day by day, she stops needing it altogether.

Yasha feels proud of herself for the first time in forever, knowing that she is working and getting her hands dirty making people happy instead of inflicting them pain.

She even manages to steal a few hours for herself to go on the lookout for Christmas presents for the party.

After finding out Beau has invited her to their celebrations, Fjord and Caduceus have not only offered to pick her up the morning of, but have made sure to inform her about the way things work within their group.

“We all come from a very diverse group of people, with very different backgrounds.” Fjord explains between a mouthful of soup and the next, a few days before Christmas, during their lunch break. “When we met, in college, we decided to spend the holidays together, but to honor everyone’s traditions, we try to schedule the day so that everyone gets to have their own little activity and share it with the others.”

“I ask for everyone’s help with the preparation of the meal, for example.” Caduceus chimes in. “It doesn’t matter how good or bad they are in the kitchen, everyone helps at least for a bit.”

“Our friend Molly’s a disaster with food.” Fjord smiles. “So they almost always end up chopping veggies or doing the dishes. Easy stuff.”

“What is your tradition?” Yasha asks Fjord, a bit intimidated by the idea of coming into this group of people who seem to have built such a wonderful tradition in sharing theirs, but relieved at the thought that both Molly and Beau will be there. The others still don’t know she and Molly are friends, and she almost chuckles at the thought of what that revelation is going to look like.

Fjord shrugs.

“I grew up in the system, so mine isn’t all that exciting.” he explains. Yasha does a quick double take: Fjord and herself seem to be more similar than she’d ever expected. “But when I got to my latest foster family, the Stones, me and the other kids had access to a fuckload of board games and video games. We would spend the whole day, on Christmas, playing Catan, Crash Bash and Monopoly.”

Yasha nods, not really knowing what to say, watching as Caduceus wordlessly reaches for her plate and dumps the remaining of his lunch onto hers. He stretches and refills all their waters, starting to ask who wants tea.

Yasha feels her heart swelling with affection.

The whole Beau thing is what it is, and the feelings she has for her are a whole new can of worms she does not want to touch for now.

But the love and care she is developing for Fjord and Caduceus is something new, something similar to what she’s developed for Molly. Something easy, and warm, and scary.

She ends up wandering around the Downtown mall the following afternoon, her wallet full of cash from the Christmas bonus and the latest fight, and her mind set on a mission.

She has never had people to buy Christmas gifts for, except for Zuala, but now that she has, and now that she has the money to do so, she is determined to find something small for all her friends.

Judging from what Beau, Caduceus and Fjord have told her, there will be a few more people at the party, and Yasha has gathered just enough information to figure out a small present for all.

Caleb and Veth, the two she knows the least about, are relatively easy: she finds a colorful bookmark for the former, and a cheap bottle of wine for the latter. She knows that Veth is going to bring husband and child to the celebrations, so she ends up buying a cute little teddy bear with a sword in its paw. It’s as big as her hand, and she finds it incredibly lame, but she steels herself to the idea that it’s the thought that matters.

She finds Jester’s gift fairly easily as well, because she knows exactly what she’s looking for and she’s visited the store before. As she scouts the GameStop, she finds a blue box, the expansion of one of the board games Fjord has mentioned during lunch, the day before.

Molly is a tough one, not because of the lack of ideas, but more so because of the lack of money. She has set aside a small envelope with a chunk of money larger than the others, and has labelled it with Beau’s name. She still doesn’t know what to get her, but she knows she wants it to be special. As she looks around, she finds many things that could be a fit, but none of them speaks to her heart. And if it does, it’s definitely too expensive.

As much as she’s enjoying buying these gifts, she has set a budget for herself and she is not willing to break her own promise.

The thought pains her. She wants to find perfect presents for her friends, but she also knows that she must be wise with her money management.

She leaves the mall with a couple bags in hand, deciding to go look for Molly’s gift elsewhere, and as she passes one of the mall’s many flower shops, she gets an idea for Caduceus’ gift, realizing that she could easily make him happy without spending any money.

Encouraged by this realization, she exits the mall and jogs across the street, avoiding the many pedestrians going the opposite direction, and walks into the Christmas Market.

The holiday spirit is flowing and growing, as the music trills across the speakers and Yasha’s nostrils pick up on the delicious smell of freshly made hot chocolate.

She follows the trail and the laughter of children with their families, and finds the hot chocolate stand at the end of the first section of tables.

She bites her lip, staring at the big, tall man behind the till, watching as he and his brothers -Yasha assumes they are all brothers, as they look all exactly the same- serve hot chocolate to the many patrons.

She watches, eyes wide in wonder, as the family at the table walks away, all of them holding a purple paper cup filled to the rim with hot chocolate.

The man at the till smiles at her.

Yasha shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

She really shouldn’t...

But she also just got a fat holiday bonus, from a job that she never expected to have.

Her life is still a mess, but if working with Fjord and Cad, or running around with Molly and Beau have taught her anything, is that she is allowed to enjoy the small pleasures in life.

She timidly steps forward.

“Good evening! Welcome to  _ Pumat Sol, Hot Chocolate for the Soul _ ! What can I get for you tonight?”

Yasha clears her voice, clutching her bags.

“Uhm. Hot chocolate?”

The man chuckles.

“Yes, I figured. What kind?”

Yasha’s eyes widen, this time in panic.

“Uhm. How many… I never had hot chocolate, I’m sorry…” she stutters, unsure on how to answer. She had no idea there could be more than one kind of hot chocolate.

The man gasps, visibly upset by her answer.

“I’m sorry.” Yasha says again, quickly trying to figure out a way to backtrack away from that situation. All of a sudden, she regrets stepping forward.

But the man shakes his head.

“Oh, dear. I am the one who is sorry. Truly!” he exclaims. “Come, dear, I think in this situation, I must ask you to bear with me, and try all of them!”

Yasha’s heart splits in two. One side rejoices at the idea of trying more than one hot chocolate, while the other crumbles in sadness at the knowledge that she most certainly can’t afford that luxury.

“I’m sorry.” she repeats for the third time. “But I only have money for one.”

The man, who Yasha assumes is Pumat Sol, laughs a loud, gentle laugh.

“No, no.” he says. “I’m not going to make you pay for all of them. I’m going to make you try them! Pumat!” he calls, successfully crushing Yasha’s suspicions about family ties. “Bring me samples for the whole menu, will you?”

There is a laugh and a chuckle coming from the back of the stand, and in the span of half a minute, another man appears, sliding a tray full of small cups filled with different shades of brown liquid. A couple of cups contain white liquid instead.

“Try!” the man encourages, excited.

“All of them?” Yasha asks, nearly dropping her bags in disbelief. “For free?”

“But naturally!” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t have you pick your cup if you don’t know what your heart really likes.”

Yasha stares at the cups, then at the man, and she can’t help the biggest of smiles from appearing on her face.

She ends up sitting on the sidewalk next to the table as she slowly but happily tries all the fourteen sample cups of hot chocolate.

She grimaces at the taste of dark chocolate, too bitter for her tongue, and blinks rapidly when one of the samples kicks back with a spicy aftertaste.

Milk chocolate and caramel hot chocolate are absolutely delicious, but what ends up stealing her heart is the mini cup of white hot chocolate, both the plain one and the vanilla flavored one.

The latter is the one she ends up ordering, and Pumat -apparently, all of them are named Pumat- is so intrigued and excited at the idea that she’s really trying hot chocolate for the first time in her life, that he ends up sending her on her way with a free order.

“Please…” Yasha tries to beg for the fourth time, money still clutched in her free hand.

But Pumat shakes his head.

“I can’t possibly accept it. Next time, I will. But this is your first cup, and it is my greatest pleasure to offer it to you. Consider it a holiday gift, in the spirit of Winter’s Crest.”

Yasha gives in with a smile, and offers him her hand instead. He shakes it, happily, and Yasha walks away with a warm drink clutched in her fingers and a warm feeling in her heart.

She takes a sniff from her cup and giggles to herself.

At home, that night, as she sips the last few drops of that magical drink, Yasha sits cross legged on her mattress, her notebook open in front of her.

Carefully, she picks one flower after the other, crumbling a few petals in small glass jars she’s found at the Dollar Store. Molly’s gift is carefully wrapped in its bag, and with the party only a few days away, the only one missing is Beau’s.

“I remember finding this when you and I went to the beach.” Yasha says to the empty room. “You gave one to me and put one in your hair. You were so very beautiful.”

She sighs, turning her page onto another flower. A darker one, this time.

“Oh, man. I forgot about this one.” she murmurs, lifting it in front of her face. “You couldn’t stop sneezing after we found it.”

Yasha plucks the petals, filling up another jar.

“I think you’d be happy to see them now. You were always saying that I would’ve had to find a way to either store all the notebooks I was filling, or get rid of some of the flowers. I am finally putting them to good use. Not throwing them away, but not keeping them forever.”

She chuckles to herself.

“I think you’d really like Caduceus.” she murmurs, flipping a few more pages, trying to decide which other flower she wants to use. “And Fjord, too. They’re good people.”

She flips to a new page, and a familiar flower, one that hasn’t had the chance to dry off completely, falls on the mattress. 

Yasha slowly picks it up with a lump in her throat.

“Beau got this one for me.” she says, as her voice cracks. “She… She is very good, you know? I like her a lot.”

Yasha swallows a few tears, placing the flower back in the book, carefully.

“I think you’d like her, too.” Yasha whispers. “I think… I want to think you’d be happy I found someone like her.”

Yasha slowly closes her book, bringing it to her lips to press a shaky kiss on the cover.

“I am so tired, Zuala…” she cries, quietly. “I feel like I can allow myself to feel tired around her. She makes me feel safe.”

Yasha closes her eyes.

“Please, forgive me.”

***

Beau opens the door with a wide smile. There’s nervousness on her face, but she hides it well. Yasha has studied those features for far too long not to recognize the anxious excitement she sees.

“Hey guys.”

Fjord high fives Beau and Caduceus opens his arms to both invite and offer a hug to his friend.

Beau awkwardly shuffles forward and lets herself be held in Caduceus arms for a brief moment.

“Hey, buddy.” she says with a small laugh.

Both Fjord and Caduceus slip through the threshold, taking the apartment in, and Yasha is left staring at Beau at the door.

“Hi.” Beau breathes out.

Yasha feels warm all of a sudden, lowers her gaze and fumbles with her bags, twisting her fingers around one of her braids and moving it behind her ear.

“Hi, friend.” Yasha sputters, and although she feels like they have gone way past friendship, at this point, the greeting makes Beau grin.

“Make yourself at home.”

Beau’s apartment is big.

It’s the first thing that Yasha notices, how spacious the place is. She thinks she’s probably not a good judge, considering her own apartment is a small studio that can barely hold a single mattress and a table, but she does notice Fjord’s impressed glance as he takes it all in.

“You’ve got quite the sweet crib here, man.” he says, eying the tall bookshelf on the sides of the tv, filled with books to every corner. The only empty space is where the television sits, a flat screen where one could comfortably watch any movie without having to squint. On both sides of the shelves, two windows let the morning light filter in, and under one of them, Yasha notices an old armchair with a matching footrest. She immediately imagines Beau, curled up on it with a blanket on her legs and a book in her hands, reading to the early hours of the morning.

The living room is square, with a large L-shaped couch in the middle and a black coffee table in front of it. Behind it, leaving enough room between them for people to walk by, there’s a big cabinet and a stand with an old guitar. There’s dust sitting atop it, and Yasha assumes it hasn’t been used in a while. Her fingers itch.

She keeps looking around.

From Yasha’s standpoint, right at the door where she is still working on taking her boots off, she estimates the room could fit a dozen people without feeling too crowded.

On the other side of where she is, there is a set of sliding glass doors: they are closed, but the curtains are not pulled, and Yasha can see the bright kitchen with its round table on the other side.

The corridor on the right has the lights on, and Yasha counts three doors.

“Bathroom is the first one on the right.” Beau supplies, noticing her wordless investigation.

Yasha blushes slightly, embarrassed for having been caught staring, but Beau winks at her and turns to once again engage her friends.

Caduceus immediately finds the few plants on the shelves, and happily starts plucking at them, removing dry parts and prodding the soil.

Fjord has collapsed on the couch, a controller of some kind in his left hand and a game case in the right.

“We got time for a game, right?” he is saying, as Beau and Yasha go to sit with him on the couch.

Beau grins, reaching for the second controller under the coffee table and holding it out to Yasha, who takes it, looking at it with a frown.

“Jester and Molly are on their way.” Beau tells them, turning the tv on. “Caleb is coming with Veth, and they are going to be here just before lunch.”   
Yasha stares at the controller, having no idea what is going on, or what she’s supposed to do with it.

“Have you ever played Mario Kart, Yasha?” Fjord asks her, going through the menu of the videogame like he’s been sitting in that living room for years, instead of having just set foot inside Beau’s apartment.

Yasha can tell that Beau looks relieved at the lack of comments from her friends, and Yasha feels even more close to her than ever before.

She understands having to hide away from everyone she knows, holding secrets from the people she cares about, and she knows -especially after what Beau has told her about her family- how hard this must be for her.

“Never.” Yasha says, in response to Fjord’s query.

Beau smiles at her, shuffling closer on the couch, one foot under her opposite thigh.

“It’s easy, I promise.” she tells her, pointing at the buttons on the controller with the letters. “A is Accelerate, so that’s easy to remember. B for Brake, or Backtrack, if you need to go back. These on the sides are to throw your item, this to steer…”

Yasha listens attentively for the first five seconds, before she almost subconsciously moves her gaze from the buttons on the controller to Beau’s face, so close to hers.

Their bodies are pressed together, and Yasha has to stop herself from leaning in even closer. 

Beau’s cheeks darken as Beau stops talking, looking up to meet her eyes.

Yasha swallows.

She can’t allow herself to feel these things, to think of about-

Her gaze lowers on Beau’s lips. She remembers kissing them, slipping her tongue through them, grabbing the lower one between her teeth and sucking on it until Beau is moaning her nam-

“You ready, Yasha?”

Fjord’s voice startles the both of them out of their reverie, and Yasha’s head shoots back to look at the tv.

“Sure.” she says, and her voice remains miraculously steady.

“Beau? You playin’?” Fjord asks again, completely unaware as to what just happened.

Beau takes a second to answer, but when she does, nothing transpires.

“I’m good, man. I’ll help Yasha, for now.”

As Mario Kart starts and Fjord encourages Yasha to pick a map, Beau leans back on the couch, one arm flung on the back of the cushions and her free hand resting a millimeter away from Yasha’s thigh.

***

Jester and Molly ring the doorbell half hour after the first race, a match which Yasha handles surprisingly well, considering her ignorance over the game.

Beau pats her on the leg, suppressing a smile at the look of sheer determination on her face while she plays, and gets up to answer the door.

Fjord is still decidedly winning, but Yasha is making her way from fourth place to third as the last lap begins.

As soon as she opens the door, Jester throws her arms around her neck and squeezes until Beau has to wrestle herself free of her best friend’s vice.

“HI, GUYS!” Jester screams, making Caduceus poke his head out of the kitchen and both Fjord and Yasha turn to look at the entrance.

“Hey, Jessie.” Fjord smiles, standing just enough to allow Jester to kiss him. “This is Yasha.”

The squeal that leaves Jester is window-shattering, and Beau takes a deep breath in, doing her best not to intervene.

She has to tell herself that Yasha is an adult who knows how to handle herself, and she doesn’t need protection.

“She’s going to be just fine, you know?” Molly murmurs, making Beau turn to look at them.

They raise a questioning eyebrow and Beau feels the sudden urge to run and hide.

“Not now.” Beau pleads, knowing fully well what is going through Molly’s mind. “We’ll talk. I promise. But let’s just… Enjoy Christmas, for now? Please.”

Molly sighs, nodding.

“Alright.” they say. Beau can tell they’re not happy with the answer, and she stops them before they head in, grabbing them by the wrist.

“Hey.” she says, when Molly turns to look at her once more. “I… Thanks, man. For not saying anything. And helping out with shielding all the questions.”

It’s one of the hardest things she’s ever had to say: her and Molly never had the closest of relationships, but Beau cares about them and she knows they do about her.

Molly grins.

“Of course, darling. But don’t think too much of yourself. I did it for Yasha.”

Beau barks out a laugh, seeing right through their bullshit.

“Asshole.” she says, pushing them inside and closing the door behind them.

The look on Fjord and Jester’s faces when Molly hugs Yasha and kisses her on the cheek with familiarity is something Beau wishes she could’ve captured on camera.

Their hands ping-pong between the two, as Molly sits next to Yasha and starts asking her about her day and her weekly job, immediately easing the visible tension on Yasha’s shoulders.

It also successfully takes Jester’s attention off of whatever she thinks is going on between Beau and Yasha, replacing it with the curiosity regarding Molly and Yasha’s friendship.

Molly takes the lead on the explanation, recounting the story of how they met and how Yasha had started to work at the circus nearly six months ago.

Caduceus listens from the doors of the kitchen, a bowl clutched in one arm and whiskers in the other. He doesn’t look surprised, but Beau doubts anything could surprise the guy, at this point.

He just looks… Serene.

And looking at the scene in front of her, with her best friends in her apartment chatting with the girl she’s falling in love with, getting ready to celebrate the holidays together, Beau can’t help but feel the same way.

Caleb, Veth, Yeza and Luc arrive just as Fjord and Caduceus are setting the table.

Veth carries a tray of what smells like lasagne, followed by Yeza, completely submerged by bags of other kinds, and Luc toddles right behind his dad, talking Caleb’s head off as they all march through the door.

Caleb throws a glance at Beauregard, not-so-subtly begging her to take Luc off his case: Caleb is a great guy, but he is unable to communicate with children.

Beau immediately scoops Luc up, blowing raspberries on his tummy as he starts laughing like a madman.

“Auntie Be-EAU!” he screams, hiccupping through the laughter.

Beau grins, putting him back on the ground and encouraging him to go explore. Luc takes off, followed by Jester, who is more than happy to chaperone the child, even if it’s just an excuse to see more of Beau’s apartment.

“ _Danke_.” Caleb mutters, taking his cat backpack off his shoulders.

“Sure.”

Beau zips the top of the backpack open, and Frumpkin pokes his head out with a loud meow.

“Yeah, man.” She encourages him. “There’s a litter box in the bathroom. I’m sure you’ll find it just fine.”

Frumpkin looks around before jumping out of the backpack, venturing around the house with his tail curling left and right.

“Let me know how much I owe you for the litter, Beauregard.” Caleb says, taking his shoes off and passing her the bag with his gifts.

Beau claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, man. I’m serious. It’s nothing.”

Caleb doesn’t look too convinced, but any protest is drowned by Veth’s screech.

Beau and Caleb turn to look at their friends; Yeza is too busy fixing their gifts under the tree in the corner with the rest of the others to care about his wife’s antics, but Veth is pointing a finger at Yasha, which makes Beau tense immediately.

“I know you!” she squeals. “You’re the scary looking lady who wanted to find an internet cafe on Main Street!”

Everyone turns to look at Yasha, who doesn’t seem all that affected by the screeching, nor the pointing.

Yasha smiles, almost pleased.

“And you’re the rude looking lady who helped me.” she responds with a chuckle. “You actually sent me straight to the bar where I met Molly.”

There’s a long, stretched out moment of silence before everyone starts laughing, incredulity and surprise coloring everyone’s features.

Beau catches Fjord’s eyes and subtly shakes her head.

If Molly had been at a bar, that bar must have been their usual hang out place. And if that had been the case, it had meant that Beauregard had probably been there as well, before or after Molly and Yasha’s encounter.

Beau leans against the door, wondering in how many ways the universe has been trying to push her, her group of friends and Yasha together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! And feel free to come scream at me on tumblr (lexa-lives-in-us) or on twitch (@ shloedge )  
> NOICE!

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 is pure smut: if you wish to skip that, go to Chapter 3 directly. No plot advancement will be missed, I promise.


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